The Trials of Fate
by falafel-fiction
Summary: Desmond, the man who saved the world by pushing a button, is battling against the universe to keep Charlie Pace alive. Together the two men struggle to change their fates. Also features Sayid, Hurley, Ben, Locke and Claire. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

The Trials of Fate

**Characters:** Desmond, Charlie, Hurley and Claire.

**Synopsis:** Set a few days after 'Flashes before your Eyes'. Desmond, the man who spent three years saving the world by pushing a button, is now battling against fate and the universe…but he is slowly losing his hope.

**Author's Note: **Warning! Be prepared for dark themes and heavy angst. Some readers might find parts of this story disturbing. But if you like your Desmond tortured and despairing then this the fic is for you.

**Disclaimer: **I don't write for Lost, but if anyone would like to offer me the job…

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Desmond sat across the entrance to his tent, his back propped against the nearby tree and his rifle resting in his hands. Charlie lay in the small space inside his shelter, his hands tucked behind his head, his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes lingering over the palm leaves that hung above him. The two men had been in these positions for several hours now, during which time darkness had fallen over the beach camp and its inhabitants had settled down for the night.

Desmond felt strangely like he was guarding Charlie. He supposed that was exactly what he was doing. Guarding him from whatever form of potential death was coming for him next. Guarding him from the new assassins the universe would send to correct its course. Desmond had sobered up now. He was feeling ready to meet any challenge that fate could throw at him. He glanced at Charlie. The young man was squinting at him, his face pinched with confusion.

"_Why?"_ he asked in a whisper.

Charlie didn't need to elaborate. Desmond understood what he meant. He wanted to know why Desmond was going to such lengths to save his life. It was a fair question. Death was common to the castaways now. Desmond had arrived at their camp in the middle of a funeral. Only last week he had helped to bury their priest. Why should one more death matter so much to him?

The simple difference was that every morning Desmond was waking up with this man's death on his brain. Charlie's death and nobody elses. He was being given a unique opportunity to let him live for another day even if come tomorrow Desmond would have to save him all over again.

These flashes had given Desmond a sense of purpose, which he had not felt since his days of saving the world down in the hatch. If anything this new mission held an even greater importance to Desmond. Every time he saved Charlie, Desmond was changing fate. And if Charlie's destiny could be changed then there was hope for Desmond too. Hope that one day he could see Penny again. Hope that after all that had happened they could still be together. Hope that every one of them could escape from this island, return to their homes and forget this nightmare.

If Charlie died then all Desmond's hopes would perish with him.

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Earlier that day, the stress had become too much...

Charlie had been coping rather well so far. The morning after Desmond had told him about the flashes, Charlie had been quiet and remote. Desmond had chosen to leave him alone, imagining that he was still in shock. After spending a little time with Hurley he had brightened up considerably. It seemed his friend had encouraged him to live for the moment and not allow fear of death to oppress him.

Desmond wished he could embrace their philosophy, but he was older and more wearied by these trials of fate. He anticipated that Charlie's cheerfulness would be short lived. The flashes hadn't stopped. His life was still in danger and the universe wasn't relenting. Desmond knew it was only a matter of time before the shock and denial wore off and the fear came crashing down.

"Desmond dude…you had better come quick…" said Hurley, waking Desmond from his afternoon doze.

Desmond could hear raised voices in the distance. He followed after Hurley and soon caught sight of Charlie and Claire, arguing the middle of the crowded beach. Charlie was weighted down with luggage and was walking away from their shelter. Claire had hold of the handle to his guitar case and was dragging him back. The Australian girl had worked herself into a furious temper. She was demanding to know why Charlie had been ignoring her and Aaron for the last few days. Why he was now moving his stuff away from their tent. Why after all the affection he had shown them was he suddenly abandoning them without explanation.

When Charlie protested that she wouldn't understand, Claire started tugging at his sleeves. Charlie flinched at her touches, seeming distressed by her closeness. He kept glancing over his shoulder or sometimes straight up in the air as if he was expecting sudden death to fall out of the sky and crush them both.

People were standing around in clusters watching their quarrel with interest, but not surprise. Desmond supposed that the camp had witnessed fights between this young couple before. Several of the watchers were shaking their heads at Charlie. He heard Paulo mutter something Nikki about the washed up junkie being back on his heroin. Desmond felt like punching his lights out. Instead he hurried over to where Charlie and Claire were struggling and forced them apart.

"It's not safe, Des!" Charlie started yelling the moment he arrived. "You've got to make her understand! She won't listen to me!"

"What's he talking about, Desmond?" Claire screamed into his other ear. "There's something is going on. Why will nobody tell me?!"

Desmond felt like he was settling a fight between two of his younger siblings. They were both overwrought and hysterical. He took Claire by the shoulders and gently pushed her away from Charlie.

"Get back to your tent, Claire," he instructed her firmly. "Go back to Aaron."

Claire stared at him with the same look of frustration and resentment that he had seen on Charlie's face the time that Desmond wouldn't let him take care of Claire after her drowning. Desmond knew that these two had a tight bond. They instinctively wanted to pull together and be close to each other. But Charlie was right. It just wasn't safe for them anymore. The universe had already tried to use Claire as bait to lure Charlie into the ocean. Desmond couldn't keep rescuing them both at the same time. But if Claire kept her distance she should be alright.

The girl looked upset and a little intimidated. Reluctantly she moved back and joined one of the huddles. Desmond turned to Charlie.

"She doesn't understand, Des," said Charlie, despairingly. "She thinks I'm walking out on her and Aaron like the last guy did. But I'm not! I would never do that. I'm doing what I have to do to protect them!"

"I know, brother. Calm down will you..."

Charlie's face was clammy and pale. The dark circles under his eyes suggested that he hadn't slept since the night he had learned of Desmond's prediction. Now exhaustion was weighing heavy on him and panic was taking hold.

"I can't breathe, Des," Charlie gasped. "My hearts going too fast…I can feel it…that's not normal is it? I think it's happening now, Des…"

Desmond took the luggage out of Charlie's hands and forced him to sit down before he fainted. The young man was trembling and sweating, his shoulders tensed up and his breath coming out in short rapid gasps.

"Can't breathe…" he wheezed. "Des, if it's happening now will you at least tell me! I can't stand this…it's too much…I'm gonna…"

Desmond noticed that his fingers were clawing at his neck as though an invisible cord were being tightened around it. Desmond lifted his gaze to the crowd of bystanders, who were watching all this in confusion.

"He's hyperventilating! Can somebody get me a…"

It seemed like Sun, the Korean woman, was one step ahead of him. She came running over to them carrying an Oceanic sickbag, obviously salvaged from their plane crash. Desmond held Charlie's head still and placed the paper bag over his mouth and nose. He leaned in and looked him in the eye.

"It is _not_ happening now, Charlie," Desmond assured him in a hushed voice that the others would not hear. "When I see it happening, I will tell you and we will figure out a way of stopping it, alright?"

Charlie's breathing slowed down but the terror didn't leave his eyes. Desmond had suffered from panic attacks himself in the past. He knew only too well from his own experiences that there was little he could say or do to take away that awful feeling of impending doom. Especially in Charlie's case. It probably didn't help that his camp mates were standing around gawking at him.

"Shows over, folks," said Desmond. "Go back to your own business."

Charlie seemed greatly relieved when they started drifting away. Desmond removed the paper bag and sat down beside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder and trying to rub some of the tension out of his back.

As they sat there together in the sand, Desmond found himself remembering the time when his youngest brother was being bullied at school. When he had discovered what was going on Desmond had rung the teachers and demanded that something be done about it. But every day his brother would come home to him with fresh bruises and nosebleeds, struggling not to cry. There wasn't anything that Desmond could do to stop it. He was working so hard just to pay the bills and keep food in their cupboards, that he didn't have time to go to the school himself. All he could do was comfort his little brother. He couldn't stop what was happening to him.

Desmond looked over his shoulder and saw Hurley hovering near by. He remembered that Hurley was the only other person who knew about Charlie's situation. Desmond called him over and asked him to take Charlie's things to Desmond's own tent. Hurley nodded and did as he was told. Desmond took Charlie by the arm and helped him to his feet. When they reached the tent, Desmond and Hurley suggested Charlie take a lie down and get some sleep if he could. Charlie numbly obeyed, his eyes downcast and his expression almost catatonic.

"Dude…about the breathing thing…" Hurley murmured to Desmond. "I think there's something you should know..."

Hurley proceeded to tell Desmond about a near-death experience that Charlie had suffered only two months ago. He described how Charlie had been kidnapped by the Others and was later found hanging from a tree by his neck. Apparently their doctor had managed to resuscitate him, but it had been a close call. Hurley was concerned that Charlie might be reliving his hanging. He was particularly worried about these lapses into catatonia, which Charlie had been prone to before.

"You seem to know a lot about it, brother," Desmond remarked.

Hurley shrugged. "I spent a little time in this psyche ward…Santa Rosa…"

Desmond frowned. "What? You mean as a nurse?"

"As a mental patient," he corrected him.

Desmond blinked with surprise. Hurley sighed and continued.

"Listen dude, I'm telling you...I've seen guys in less freaky situations than Charlie just check out of reality. They become like zombies. It's no way of living, man…"

Desmond nodded, understanding what Hurley was driving at. This wasn't just a matter of keeping Charlie alive. They had to keep him sane as well. Desmond thanked Hurley for his advice and then politely asked him to leave. As much as he appreciated his help, Desmond wanted to take this responsibility on himself…whatever it entailed.

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As the night grew darker, Desmond felt his hope waning. Doubt and despair were clouding his mind. The evening's shadows were stretching over the beach like the dark gloved hands of murderers. The world beyond his fragile shelter seemed brutal and merciless. He could not hold off the danger. If anything Desmond had only made matters worst for Charlie. Because now it seemed like every time he cheated fate the universe was growing more unsettled. Its attempts to take Charlie's life were steadily becoming more vicious and disturbing. Every time Desmond succeeded in saving Charlie, a darker death would rise up in his mind.

Desmond glanced at his companion again. Charlie had rolled over onto his stomach and his eyes had fallen closed. It seemed like exhaustion had finally overwhelmed him. He looked peaceful in his sleep. Almost serene.

_I shouldn't have told him_, Desmond scolded himself. _No matter how much he pestered me I just shouldn't have told him... _

Desmond hadn't known Charlie for long, but it didn't take a genius to work out that this was a man of a nervous disposition and perhaps not the most emotionally stable person on the island. Telling Charlie about his imminent death was an unnecessary cruelty. Desmond had been selfish and yes _cowardly _in telling him. He had wanted to let somebody else into his nightmare. A braver man would have allowed Charlie live in blissful ignorance until it happened…because it was going to happen. There was nothing Desmond could do to stop it.

There was nothing more he could for Charlie. Unless…

Desmond swallowed, tears filling his eyes. He felt his hands trembling on the rifle he held in his arms. It seemed like the only choice he had left. Maybe this was the real reason he had brought Charlie to his tent tonight. A subconscious decision to resolve this problem before the fate sought to punish him for his interference. Slowly he rose to his feet and levelled the gun at Charlie's forehead.

At least this way he wouldn't suffer. He wouldn't have to feel the threat of death looming over him. And Desmond wouldn't have to witness his death over and over in his head. It was too much. It had to end now.

Charlie stirred in his sleep. Desmond's finger froze upon the trigger. He watched intently as Charlie's expression began to change. A small smile crept across his lips. A smile suggesting that Charlie had escaped into a place in his dreams where he still felt safe. A dream with Claire and her baby perhaps. A dream that had given him hope in spite of the whole universe conspiring against him.

Desmond sank to his knees. He could not kill a man who still had hope. And besides, if Desmond shot Charlie now he had better have another bullet ready for himself, because there was no hope for any of them if fate could not be altered.

They were on this path together now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Characters: **Charlie, Desmond, Penny and Vincent.

**Authors Note: **I had originally intended for 'The Trials of Fate' to be a one-shot fic, but I've found that I have so many ideas regarding the current Desmond/Charlie story that I have decided to merge them all into one epic Chesmond saga…so keep an eye out for further instalments! Chapter 2 is set on the same night as Chapter 1 only now we switch from a Desmond POV to a Charlie POV. As the story continues I will be swapping back and forth between them.

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"_Why?"_

Charlie was propped up on his elbows, frowning at the man who was leaning back against the tree. This man who had been repeatedly saving his life for some reason that Charlie couldn't quite fathom. He had known Desmond for roughly a week now. During that time they hadn't talked much. When they had spoken Charlie had been rather rude to him. Behind his back he had been making a few digs about his sanity. Now Charlie owed this man his life.

When Locke had first told him about Desmond, the mysterious Scot from the hatch, Charlie had been fascinated by his story. He had been rather thrilled by the prospect of another Brit on the island. Charlie often felt adrift among all those Yanks. Most of them didn't share his sense of humour. He thought that it would be refreshing to be around one of his fellow countrymen again.

But Charlie had gotten off to a bad start with Desmond. The offer to fix Claire's roof had really bothered him. Charlie had gained a new sense of pride from the construction skills he had acquired from his building projects with Sayid and Eko. If there was a problem with Claire's shelter then Charlie felt perfectly capable of mending it. And when it came to doing little chores for Claire…well, Charlie wanted those chores for himself. He wanted the smile and the "thank you" that came after the little jobs were completed. It was the only thing that made him feel useful and gave him a sense of purpose on the island. It might sound petty but he thrived on being Claire's helper and had become very possessive of the role.

Then there was the 'brother' thing. Desmond referred to all the men as 'brother' but Charlie was the only one who called him it in return. Charlie did it on impulse, but the word always came out with an edge of resentment. It took him a while to realise why. Charlie had not heard anyone calling him 'brother' since the time he lived with Liam. Thankfully Desmond left out the 'baby' part which Liam had always used to belittle him, but the association still stung. Like Liam, Desmond was older, taller, more handsome and built…and he had the same knack of making Charlie feel inadequate around girls. Well…around Claire.

He had been hurt by the way Desmond had shoved him back from Claire after her drowning. It was as though he didn't think Charlie could even hold her hand right. He was very grateful that Desmond had saved her, of course – but at the same time Charlie felt suspicious of Desmond's closeness to Claire. To his mind, any strange man taking an interest in Claire could be a potential Ethan. He wasn't taking any chances. He felt the need to suss Desmond out.

Charlie wasn't sure what he had expected to learn from the drunken and distraught Scotsman, but he had been in no way prepared for those ghastly premonitions of his impending death. He had sat in stunned silence while Desmond murmured "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" in an endless mantra. When the numbness had worn off the first thing he felt was not fear or devastation. Charlie found himself feeling moved and humbled that Desmond had been making such a valiant effort to save him. That he cared enough to protect him from the danger. That this stranger had taken it upon himself to look out for him. Liam never did that.

Charlie waited a few more moments for an answer to his question. Desmond's eyes were turned away from him, his stare levelled at the ocean. Charlie sighed, heavily. Feeling weighed down with exhaustion, he flopped onto his belly and allowed his eyelids to slowly fall closed.

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Charlie had beaten it. He didn't know how but in his heart he felt certain that it was over. For weeks he had been out in the jungle, exposed to all the dangers of the island. He had looked death in the face and instead of taking his life the universe had relented and spared him. Now as Charlie made his way back to the beach camp, there was no rock slides falling on him, no savage beasts preying on him, no chasms opening up before him…fate was leaving him alone.

Vincent was the first to welcome him back. The golden labrador came bounding up the path towards him, barking with excitement. Charlie used to have an irrational fear of dogs, convinced that he was allergic to them and that they could turn vicious at any moment. But after all that he had been through in his struggle against fate, death and the universe it seemed all his old phobias had lost their power. He petted Vincent's head and followed him along the path.

Charlie could hardly wait to see his friends again. He needed to tell Desmond that fate had been changed and there would be no more flashes. He needed to tell Hurley that his curse was lifted and he could make his own luck. He needed to tell Claire that he would never leave her again. That he would make a family with her and Aaron.

Charlie entered the beach over Boone hill. He did not wish to linger in the camp's cemetery, but he came to a sudden stop when he noticed Vincent was sitting beside a new grave. His chest tightened. Somebody must have been killed during the time he had been away. He approached the cross slowly praying that the name it bore didn't belong to one of his close friends. He read the word scratched into the wood and his jaw dropped open. It read – **Charlie**.

He felt the warmth draining from his body. Maybe he hadn't beaten it after all. Maybe he was just a ghost haunting the camp. There was only one way to find out. He raised his foot and kicked the cross down. The wood splintered and snapped in two. Feeling satisfied that he confirmed his own existence, Charlie wondered why a grave had been erected for him. His heart sank as he realised that they had all given up on him. They all believed him to be dead. He had to tell them they were wrong. He hurried towards the tents with Vincent following close behind him.

The camp was deserted. There was not a soul to be seen among the shelters and structures that dotted the beach. Charlie ducked into Sun and Jin's tent and found it was empty but for smattering off footprints and fish bones. At Hurley's shelter he found the tarpaulin had been slashed into. Outside Sayid's lean-to he found a gun lying in the sand. What had happened to them?

Charlie was filled with horror as he hurried over to Claire's tent. The cradle was empty, toppled over in the sand. The baby's blanket lay only a foot away from the crib. Charlie picked it up and held it to his face. It still smelt of Aaron. He turned to Claire's bed and saw the remains of her diary spread across the mattress. The little journal had been ripped in two. All those memories of Claire that its pages had held had been carried away by the wind.

There was nothing left. They had taken everything.

Charlie sat upon her bed, rocking back and forth, his eyes filling his tears. He found himself hoping that the Others would come back and take him too. He couldn't stand begin left alone here in the ruins of their camp. He remembered Ethan's threat to kill every person in their group and leave Charlie till last. The thought of being left on his own with all his friends gone had terrified him. It was a fate worse than death. And Charlie had thought the worst was over.

He was vaguely aware that Vincent was barking again. There was another sound too. A whirring sound. Charlie tried to ignore it, but it was growing louder. He turned to see the dog leaping about in the sand, his nose pointed to the sky. Charlie slowly rose to his feet and stepped outside Claire's shelter.

A helicopter. There was a helicopter descending onto the beach. In all these long weeks on the island, Charlie had spent so much time looking into the sky and hoping for helicopters. He had always wanted to be the first person to spot one. But now there was nobody to celebrate with. As the chopper landed on the beach, it whipped up the sand against Charlie's face. Then its doors opened and two men and one woman stepped out of the small craft. They stared at Charlie for a moment and then they took in the rest of their surroundings. The group looked disappointed. It seemed as though they were hoping to find something more on this island than a labrador and half-crazed castaway clutching a baby blanket.

The woman broke away from their huddle and went to search the tents. The two men approached Charlie with their hands raised.

"Don't be afraid," one of them said reassuringly. "We are here to help you. We are going to take you home."

The man's English was halting and his accent was hard to place. It was something like Russian or Portuguese. When Charlie didn't respond the men started bombarding him with questions in different languages as though trying to hit on the right one to communicate with him. Then realising that Charlie was too much in shock to answer, they took him by the arms, led him over to their helicopter and sat him down inside. Vincent was already making himself comfortable on the cushioned seats. The men left them there while they went to assist the woman with her search of the camp. Charlie sighed, not knowing what to feel. Every day on this island he had longed for rescue. Now he found himself yearning for all that he had come to love on the island. They were still out in the jungle somewhere…

"Hello…" said a voice.

Charlie raised his eyes to find the woman standing just outside the craft. She had honey blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. She spoke with a posh London accent that reminded Charlie of his old girlfriend Lucy Heatherton.

"Do you speak English?" she asked.

"I am English," said Charlie, feeling encouraged.

She smiled, but it was a very fragile smile.

"In that case…would you like some tea?" she offered.

Charlie returned her shaky smile and nodded his head. The woman took a thermos from her rucksack, poured him a cupful and came to sit down beside him.

"I was in a plane crash…" Charlie began. "Oceanic Flight 815…"

She interrupted him. "I'm sorry. Please excuse me, but I _must_ ask you a question. _Please _I can't wait any longer…"

Charlie frowned. The woman was trembling with desperation.

"…is there a man on this island named Desmond David Hume?" she asked him.

The plastic cup slipped from Charlie's hands and the tea spilt over his lap. The liquid didn't burn him. He didn't even feel its wetness. Charlie looked around and found the helicopter, the island and the surrounding ocean were all blurring and melting away. The woman reached out and grabbed his shoulders.

"Listen to me!" she cried. "Please, I have to tell you something before you wake up! I need you to pass on a message to Desmond. I need you to tell him that I still love him. Tell him that I am _surviving _on that. Tell him he must hold on too. I am coming for him! I am coming for all of you. Tell him…_please_…"

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Charlie woke up with a start, his heart pounding.

The first noise that came to his ears was the sound of a man crying. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Desmond was sitting hunched up over his knees, his face contorting and tears streaming his cheeks.

"Desmond?" Charlie murmured, concerned. "What's the matter?"

The stricken Scotsman wrung his hands, sniffling and shaking his head. Charlie noticed the rifle that he had previously been holding was now lying a few feet away from him in the sand.

"Has something happened?" Charlie asked. Then gulping he added, "Have you…seen something? Another of your flashes?"

Desmond winced and shot him a sympathetic look. Charlie tensed, waiting for a new death prophecy to be spoken. But instead Desmond turned away from him and gazed out to sea. Charlie lost all patience with him.

"Look if you've been having more visions of my death then you had better bloody well tell me about them!" he hissed. "I thought we had come to an understanding over this? I've got a right to know!"

"You already know too much," Desmond muttered, turning to face Charlie again. "I hadn't been planning on telling you anything. If you hadn't got me drunk, yer sneaky bastard…" Desmond sighed, wearily. "Go back to sleep, Charlie. It is nothing you need to worry about. It's passed now…"

Charlie's eyes widened with alarm. He was sure that he hadn't been asleep for very long, but it seemed that during that time something had come out of the jungle and threatened his life. That was the impression he was given by Desmond's words at least. Charlie rose to his knees and scanned the tree-line, wondering if any of the bears had been lurking close to their camp.

"Well…um…thanks for seeing it off, mate…" he said nervously, shuffling closer to Desmond. "…whatever the hell it was."

Desmond smiled, tightly. "No bother, pal."

Charlie's skin was crawling now. There was no way he was getting back to sleep. He decided to stay up and keep Desmond company, maybe distract him from his weepy fits. It was only then that he remembered why he had woken so suddenly.

"I had this dream, Des…it was really vivid. I haven't had dreams so intense for a while. I was all alone on the beach. The camp had been deserted. Something terrible had happened. Then suddenly this helicopter came. There was this woman inside it. This beautiful Englishwoman with golden hair. She asked me whether I knew you. She had a message for you, Desmond…"

Charlie faltered as he noticed Desmond was staring at him with a fierce intensity. It seemed this dream meant something to him.

"What did she say to you?" he asked urgently.

Charlie struggled to recall her words. "She said…she said that she was coming to get us…she was coming for all of us…but especially for you, Des. She wanted me to tell you not to give up…she wanted me to tell you…"

Desmond leaned closer. "Tell me _what_?!"

"…that she still loves you. And loving you is helping her to survive or something. That's all I can remember."

Desmond's expression was filled with wonder. The Scotsman climbed to his feet. He moved away from the tents and was soon staggering around the beach in mad circles. Charlie followed after him, feeling worried that his dream had tipped this unstable man over the edge. Desmond's eyes were bulging. He was breathing raggedly and making frantic gestures with his arms.

"_It's changing…it's changing…I'm bloody changing it!!_" he chanted to himself.

After a long moment of raving, Desmond noticed Charlie standing beside him, eying him with confusion and concern. Desmond laughed, slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug that was more like a headlock.

"You ever owned a pair of red shoes, Charlie?" he asked, grinning manically.

"I don't rightly know what you're talking about, Dessy…"

Desmond jabbed him in the chest with his finger. "Time for you to throw out those red shoes, brother! You're not going anywhere in those sodding red shoes, alright? We are gonna see you through this. Then one day you're gonna escape this island. You're gonna marry that wee Aussie lass and have a wee house together and make more of those lovely wee bairns. You got that, brother?"

He swallowed. "Whatever you say, mate…"

Charlie never knew whether he was coming or going with Desmond. One moment he was telling Charlie to prepare for inevitable death and now he was painting a fairytale ending for himself and Claire.

"You really think you can change things?" Charlie asked, uncertainly.

"Aye, brother," Desmond said simply. "We're changing it."

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Characters: **Desmond, Charlie, Sayid, Hurley and Claire (Des POV).

**Author's Notes: **This new chapter has a slightly lighter tone compared to my other instalments. Think of it as the calm before the storm because it is going to get much darker from here on in. But before the angst I hope that CC shippers will appreciate this chapter. In my universe I have allowed them to enjoy their PB&J picnic undisturbed.

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For the first time, Desmond was beginning to think of his flashes as a blessing rather than a curse. Perhaps they were a special gift that had been bestowed on him after he showed the courage to turn the failsafe key. Now he had the ability to save lives and avert disasters. As Hurley said they were almost like superpowers. Powers he could use in the service of good and so win back his honour. In a strange way Desmond felt like he was still on that race around the world. This quest was taking longer than he had anticipated, but his goal was still in sight.

Charlie's dream had to be a sign that they could change their fates. Desmond hadn't told him a thing about Penny. He had never even flashed him her photograph. Yet his description of a 'beautiful Englishwoman' and the sentiments of her message were unmistakeable. So Desmond accepted that his lost love was now speaking to him through the man whose life he had been saving. It felt rather poetic and very in keeping with eerie magic of the island. It encouraged Desmond to think that not all the forces of the universe were working against him.

Desmond winced as he felt a tree root digging into his lower back. He could feel the sunlight piercing his eyelids. He rubbed his face with his knuckles and shook himself into wakefulness. He turned to bid good morning to Charlie only to find that his camping companion had disappeared. All that was left was a shallow dip in the sand where he had been sprawling in the night.

Desmond took a calming breath. _No need for alarm_, he assured himself. Charlie was probably just off visiting Claire and her baby. He pulled on his shoes and hurried over the beach to the Australian girl's tent. He was dismayed to find that her shelter was lying empty. Desmond gazed around the beach but there was no sign of the young couple among the mingling islanders. His eyes scanned the terrain for Hurley but he was nowhere to be seen either. Desmond wasn't sure who else to turn to. Hurley, Claire and Charlie were pretty much the only people in the camp who had shown him any friendship so far. There was Locke too, but he had heard that boxman had recently set off on a mission to rescue their doctor.

"Excuse me…" said a voice.

Desmond turned to see Sayid, the Iraqi soldier, eyeing him with curiosity. Desmond had heard that Sayid had originally intended to be a member of the rescue trek, but Kate and Locke had convinced him to stay, fearing their camp would be left vulnerable if all its leader figures departed.

"You look worried," Sayid remarked. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Have you seen Charlie about?" asked Desmond, trying to keep his voice calm and nonchalant. "Or Claire?"

Sayid frowned. "You seem to be spending a lot of time around them."

Desmond flashed him a dissembling smile. "Yes well…they're pleasant company. You're not going to grudge me making new friends are you brother?"

Sayid's expression remained firm. "Allow me to clarify," he said. "It seems there is always some sort of…_trouble_ when you are around Charlie and Claire. One moment you are carrying Claire out of the ocean and the next you are stopping Charlie from hyperventilating. I have heard some strange talk about a metal rod that you pitched outside their tent which was struck by lightning. It seems like this is something more than coincidence. Would you care to tell me what is going on?"

Desmond took a step back, feeling affronted. It seemed like this man was laying out the evidence to convict him of a crime.

"You…you think this is my fault?" He gritted his teeth in frustration. "I'm trying to help them and you make out that I'm a threat!"

Sayid shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to imply…"

"Look, can we save the interrogation for later? I would like to know where they are. I just want to talk to them. If I seem a little eager maybe it's because I spent rather a long time in a bunker not talking to anyone..."

Sayid sighed, his expression softening. "Charlie came to speak with Hurley and me this morning. He was asking our advice on how he ought to make things up to Claire after their fight yesterday. Hurley helped him to arrange a surprise picnic a little way down the beach. Don't worry, they haven't gone far…"

Sayid pointed Desmond in the right direction. The Scotsman tipped his head in thanks and began marching away down the beach.

"Desmond!" Sayid called after him.

He halted and turned to see the soldier looking at him with remorse.

"Forgive me for being suspicious," he said earnestly. "I'm afraid we have become very wary of strangers over the last few months. I do not know what to make of you yet…but my instincts tell me we can trust you."

Desmond nodded. "Cheers for that, pal…"

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Desmond strode briskly across the sand. He could hear the sound of laughter and music ahead of him. He was just about to round the bend of the shoreline onto the neighbouring beach when he was halted by a familiar voice.

"_Psst!_" whispered the voice. "Dude! Over here…"

Desmond turned to see Hurley crouching behind a large leafy bush. The young Californian was gesturing for Desmond come and join him in his hiding place. As the Scotsman drew near, Hurley handed him a pair of binoculars and pointed for him to look through a gap in the foliage.

Peering through the binoculars Desmond saw that Charlie and Claire were sitting together on a picnic blanket which was spread with platters of tropical fruit and boxes of Dharma cereal. Its centre piece was a gathering of wild flowers and a large tub of peanut butter that Claire kept dipping her fingers into. Charlie had his guitar in his lap and was strumming 'Sunny Afternoon' by The Kinks. Claire was swaying back and forth to the rhythm and joining in loudly when he came to the chorus. The girl had braided her hair into pigtails and wore a cute little sunhat on her head. Aaron was there on the picnic blanket too, rolling around on his back, laughing and gurgling. Every so often the couple would stop their singing and reach over to tickle his stomach, causing the baby to let out a happy squeal.

Desmond found himself smiling at the sweet scene. He lowered the binoculars and raised an eyebrow at Hurley.

"Do you often spy on your friends like this?" he asked dryly.

Hurley took his binoculars back. "Dude! Cut me some slack. We don't got a fricking TV here. I try to make the best out of what I've got. Charlie and Claire…it's kinda like a soap opera, only everything happens _really_ slowly and I am just watching them thinking _dudes! _Get over yourselves and get it together. I mean seriously. They have been crushing on each other since our first week on the island...it's time for them to cut to the chase already."

Desmond shook his head in amusement. Hurley's outlook was impossible to resist. "So tell me, brother…who do you think is going to make the first move?" he asked, playfully. "Cos my money is on Claire."

"Really?" Hurley said in surprise. "No way, dude. I'm backing Charlie. He is like totally living for the moment now. I really think he's gonna go for it with her. I've told him I'll kick his ass if he doesn't."

Desmond nodded. "So this picnic was your idea I take it?"

Hurley smirked. "Dude, what can I say? I'm better than Ricky Lake."

"You're a good friend," Desmond complimented. "But listen, brother, I need you to work with me on this one, alright? Because I'm starting to think that maybe…maybe I can change things. For him and for me. But if we are going to beat this thing then I've really got to concentrate, you know?"

"Dude, I hear you," said Hurley. "But listen up. I may not be the one with the super powers, but I've known Charlie a lot longer than you. Trust me. Keeping him cooped up in your shelter, brooding and freaking himself out over the thought of dying is not helping your cause. I'm telling you, he needs to get into a better head space or he'll just go crazy and self-destruct on you."

"Point taken," Desmond conceded. "But are you sure you know what you're doing, brother? I know you mean well, but think about it. With all your matchmaking you're giving Charlie something to live for and you're giving Claire something to lose. Do you really think that's what's best for them?"

Hurley's face became serious and considerate.

"Dude…have you ever lost somebody you really cared about?"

Desmond met his stare. His mind was already burning up with thoughts of Penny. He grimaced and then nodded his head.

"And did the pain of losing that person make you wish that you could erase all those happy times that you spent together?"

Desmond sighed and shook his head.

"Me neither, man…" said Hurley.

Desmond frowned, wondering what secret sadness the cheerful Californian was carrying around with him. Before he could ask him about it, Hurley reached out and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Listen dude. Call me Mr Mellow, but I think it's going be okay. For now at least. And besides man, you can't keep guard-dogging him 24 hours a day. It's not gonna work. You need to take some time off, have a little rest and get the crazy look out of your eyes. Don't sweat it. I'll be watching them."

Desmond nodded, giving into Hurley's kindness. He decided to retire to his tent and spend some quality time with Penny's photograph. Their talk had put him in the mood to cherish those precious memories he had of Penny and to ponder his newfound hope that one day they might be reunited.

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Night had fallen by the time Desmond caught sight of Charlie and Claire wandering back to camp. Claire was carrying Aaron in his bjorn while Charlie had his arm coiled around her shoulders. Claire's head was flopping against the crook of his neck. She was such a tiny wee toothpick of a girl that even a diminutive guy like Charlie could look manly with her tucked underneath his arm.

They were looking up at the stars. Claire appeared to be pointing out constellations to Charlie. They halted and stood in silence for a moment. Then Charlie leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. Claire's fingers reached into his hair, pulling him closer and kissing him deeper. After the kiss they pressed their heads together, looking steadily into each others eyes and grinning like monkeys.

Finally they separated. Claire headed back to her shelter with Aaron while Charlie strolled over to Desmond's tent. He was swinging his arms at his sides. He looked like a lovestruck teenager.

"Hey Dessy…" he said, dreamily.

"Evening, brother..." Desmond returned. "You're looking well. Nice to see that you haven't managed to get yourself killed today."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You're not still banging on about _that _are you?"

Desmond folded his arms. "Aye well I'm sorry to be a bore, but perhaps you didn't understand me last night. When I said we were changing things I didn't mean that we had already succeeded. We are trying to alter the course of the universe, pal. These things take a little time and effort. It doesn't help when you go wandering off without even telling me where you're going…"

"You're starting to sound like my mum," Charlie complained.

Desmond exhaled. He supposed he was beginning to sound like a bossy parent. It came naturally when Charlie acted like a kid. His immaturity was often exasperating yet at other times it made Charlie seem plucky and indomitable. The guy had an uncanny ability to shake of his troubles and bounce back. Desmond had feared he was having a nervous breakdown yesterday. Now, after spending the day with Claire, Charlie didn't seem to have a care in the world. Though his erratic moods were hard to keep up with, Desmond could feel himself becoming endeared to Charlie. He tried to warn himself not to get too attached. It would be like becoming fond of a puppy only to have to watch the poor thing get hit by a speeding car.

Desmond and Charlie settled themselves down in the same positions as they had taken up last night. Charlie stretched out under the roof of palm leaves while Desmond sat with his back propped up against the tree. The two men closed their eyes…

…Desmond's mind slipped into one of his visions.

_…a vision of Claire slouching on her bed in her tent. The girl was scribbling into her diary, filling its pages with happy memories of her day with Charlie. A scented candle was balanced precariously on a little tray on her mattress. Aaron was in his cradle, which was pulled up very close to the bed. _

_A memory of something funny caused Claire to laugh. She was giddy as a child who has had too much sugar and vitamin C. As she giggled the candle wobbled. Suddenly her elbow slipped and knocked the candle over. It rolled off the bed to land in Aaron's cradle. The baby wailed as his blanket caught fire. Claire shrieked in horror, reaching into his crib and scorching her own hands as she threw the flaming blanket onto her bed. She took Aaron in her arms, frantically inspecting him for injuries. The tent was swiftly burning up around them, the flames licking up towards the roof and the smoke engulfing the young mother and her child. Claire collapsed to her knees, reeling with shock and pain, clutching Aaron to her chest… _

_Suddenly Charlie appeared in the vision. When Claire and Aaron are screaming nobody moves faster than Charlie. He rushed through the cloud of smoke into the burning shelter and dragged them both across the sand to safety. Then suddenly he yelped in pain and hurriedly took a step back from Claire. Charlie's jeans had been set alight. He attempted to pat out the flames, but the fire caught his sleeves too. His clothing was burning up at an alarming rate and the fire was quickly eating its way through to the skin beneath. Charlie fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony, as the flames consumed him…_

Desmond's eyes flew open. He was immediately on his feet and running at full pelt towards the Australian girl's shelter. As he drew closer he could see Claire writing in her diary...he could see Aaron's cradle beside the bed...he could see the candle balanced precariously on its tray on the mattress…

Desmond stormed into the tent, snatched up the candle, threw it down in the sand and stamped on it until there was nothing left but a clump of wax beneath his shoe.

"What are you doing, Desmond?!" yelled Claire in anger and confusion. "That was my last candle! What the bloody hell is the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry…" Desmond murmured sheepishly. "It's just the way you had it balanced on the mattress…you might have had an accident if…"

Desmond's apology was drowned out as Aaron started crying and screaming. Claire threw up her hands and hissed with frustration

"Great!" she snapped. "Just perfect! Now I'll have to feed him again and he'll be so fussy he'll keep me up all night...thanks a lot, Desmond..."

The Scotsman hung his head and shuffled out of Claire's shelter. Once again his attempt at a heroic rescue had been treated as a rude disturbance. _As long as none of them were hurt_, Desmond told himself, _that's what's important. _He turned and saw Charlie standing just a few feet behind him. He was staring at the trampled candle with a queasy look of comprehension on his face. Desmond tugged him away, leading him back towards their shelter. On their way Jin stuck his head through the flaps of his tent and started yelling to them in Korean, presumably wondering what all the commotion was about.

"There's no bother, man!" Desmond called to him. "Go back to bed now!"

"What the hell was that all about?" Charlie muttered.

"Best not to think about it," he said, evasively. "It's passed now."

"I don't get this, Desmond," Charlie said as they sat down together in the shelter. "You say it's me that you are saving and yet every time you have one of these flashes it seems more like you're saving Claire."

Desmond hesitated. He wasn't sure how to break this to him. "I think...I think that Claire might have something to do with this, Charlie," he said tentatively. "I'm starting to think she is the reason this keeps happening. You need to stay away from her, brother. It seems that fate wants you to…to _die for her_…"

Charlie looked as though he had just been punched in the stomach. His skin paled and his eyes grew very wide. He shook his head in sadness and frustration.

"I was right the first time then," he said bitterly. "I am a danger to her!"

"No brother…she is a danger to you."

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Desmond woke up groaning with twinges in his back and a fierce headache. He hadn't meant to fall asleep that night. He found that it was a strange sick effect of his flashes that he suffered with bouts of fatigue after the initial rush they gave him. Right now he was struggling to open his eyes.

The first thing he noticed as he peeled his lids back was that Charlie was missing from his shelter once again. Desmond swore under his breath. He was going to have to start tying Charlie to his tent struts. He was just about to get up to search the camp for him when he noticed a handwritten note folded up in the corner of his shelter. It was weighed down by a chunky silver ring. Charlie's Driveshaft ring.

Desmond unfolded the letter and began to read...

Dear Dessy

Listen man, I know you were saying last night that it's Claire who is leading me to my death, but that's not how I see it. If the universe is using Claire to get to me, then I'm the target and she is just an innocent victim who is being used to bait me. We can't have all these fires and lightning bolts around Claire and the baby and you can't just expect me to stand back and do nothing when these things are happening. But if I go far away from here then the universe will have no more reason to attack Claire.So that's what I'm doing, Des. It's the only way.

Sorry I didn't say goodbye, but I figured that you would only try to talk me out of leaving. I wanted to say thanks for saving my life all those times. I appreciate it, brother. I'm sure there are plenty who wouldn't have bothered. I was hoping that you could do me one last favour and speak to Claire. Please tell her the truth about all this course correction stuff and try to make her understand that I am not abandoning her. You can give her this ring and tell her I would bloody well marry her if the universe didn't try to kill me every time I go near her. Please tell her I'm doing this because I want to take care of her.

I'm leaving my guitar to Aaron. Tell his mum he's not to start playing it until he is older. No chewing it or dribbling over it in the meantime. Give Hurley a manly hug from me and tell him cheers for all his advice. Yesterday was probably the best sodding day of my life and he was the one who built up my confidence to tell Claire how I feel. At least now I won't die regretting that I never went for it with her. Oh and lastly if you see Locke tell him I'm sorry for stealing one of his knives. _Sigh._ It was the really big one too...

Anyway, enough of this bollocks. Don't worry about me, brother. Maybe I'm just meant to die young. I'm a bloody Rock God after all.

Be seeing ya, Charlie

PS: Don't come after me you soppy bastard!

Desmond's eyes hovered over the last line of the letter. He considered for a moment whether he ought to obey Charlie's wishes. _Sod it_, he thought, _I was never any good at following orders. _He stuffed the letter and the ring into his pocket, grabbed his rifle and rushed through the camp. Charlie couldn't have gotten far. If he hurried then he would still be able to catch up with him.

Desmond spotted Hurley at the kitchen table, chopping up a fruit salad for breakfast. He halted to tell him that Charlie had fled from the camp, but if they moved quickly they could pick up his trail.

"Dude, I'd love to help…" Hurley said sincerely. "But I'm not a tracker and I'm not so good at the 'moving quickly' thing either. If you want somebody to help you find Charlie you should get Sayid. He is smart with trails and stuff."

"Sayid! Right. Where is he?"

"He was heading off to The Pearl station this morning to take another look at all the gismos they got down there. You know where The Pearl is, right? It's that hatch they found buried under Eko's brothers plane…"

"Thanks Hurley. Keep an eye on Claire for me, will you? Make sure she stays here at the camp. Tell her not to worry, I'll bring Charlie back."

With that Desmond marched off into the jungle, a man on a mission. He couldn't allow Charlie to abandon their struggle and endanger himself so recklessly. Desmond had to explain how important this was to him. It wasn't just about Charlie's life anymore. It had gone beyond that. This was about finding a glimmer of hope. It was about believing they weren't just prisoners of fate.

If Desmond lost that belief then he really had nothing left...


	4. Chapter 4

**Characters: **Charlie and Nadia (Charlie POV).

**Author's Notes: **I'm moving into AU territory in the next two chapters...so PLEASE READ this if you want to avoid confusion. In my story Sayid does NOT go on the Jack rescue mission with Kate and Locke. In addition to this the rescue party do NOT discover the Flame Station and Patchy. It was always a little pipedream of mine that Charlie would be the one to find the Flame (he is the Moth after all). Well, in this fic that is exactly what he is going to do! And one last thing - in my fic the Flame communications are NOT out of action. I know, I'm going AU crazy here, but please go with it. Trust me, it'll be worth it.

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Charlie stood in the jungle clearing, staring down at the cat at his feet. The cat had tatty grey fur and bright blue eyes. Charlie could not bring himself to feel very surprised over finding a cat on the island. It wasn't a patch on the polar bear. But admittedly meeting this cat was the first interesting thing that had happened to him on his long night-time trek through the jungle. He reached down and lifted it in his arms, cradling the old moggie against his chest. He sighed sadly as he remembered holding Aaron this way.

"Hello pus," Charlie cooed. "What are you doing here? Who do you belong to? How are you coping with your nine lives? I'm running low myself."

The cat hissed, its ears flattening against its head. Charlie supposed it didn't like being held and quickly put it down again. The cat retreated from Charlie and found itself a new spot to sit and stare at him. Charlie frowned at the creature. He decided that if the cat were bigger it would probably maul him to death.

"Bugger off then," Charlie huffed moodily.

With that the cat turned and scampered into the undergrowth. Charlie watched it moving away. Just before it was out of sight he started to follow it. He didn't have much else to do besides following this cat. Charlie didn't really know what he was doing. In his way he was trying to be noble, trying to do what was best for Claire, but all his good intentions were muddled by stress and lack of sleep. Charlie was hopeless at being alone. When Charlie didn't have other people to focus his attentions on he quickly began to flounder and fall apart.

Despite his loneliness and vulnerability Charlie wasn't feeling frightened. Desmond had convinced him that there was a logic to his looming death. Charlie was meant to die for Claire. That was how the universe wanted it to happen. One day fate would throw him and Claire back together and he would sacrifice his life for her. Until that moment came Charlie didn't wish inflict his death upon Claire. He would shield her from it for as long as he could.

Strangely enough Charlie didn't feel bitter over the prospect dying for Claire. He had, of course, hoped for a happier ending. He would have liked it if they could've settled down, raised Aaron and been a family for each other. If Charlie could have had that then he wouldn't need his music. He wouldn't need fame or drugs. He would have been content with Claire and Aaron. But if he couldn't be with them, then he was prepared to die for them.

Charlie considered the first time that he had almost died for Claire. He didn't remember much about his abduction. That delightful little episode had been washed from his memory by trauma and amnesia due to loss of oxygen to his brain. The only thing he remembered was his realisation that those people – the Others – only wanted Claire. He remembered he had the chance to escape. He could have run for it. They were all so focused on Claire. They weren't interested in him. But he had chosen to stay with her and protect her with his life. He had only known the girl for a week, but even then he had submitted to this fate. He couldn't help himself.

Charlie had never really spoken to anyone about his hanging. He remembered how Rose had encouraged him to ask his God for help. The old woman had clutched his hand, stoked his hair and said a prayer for him. Charlie had closed his eyes and listened to her, but he struggled to give thanks to a God who had allowed him to be strung up from a tree. Charlie couldn't remember any heaven and angels appearing before him when he was teetering on the verge of death. There was only pain and darkness. Charlie had attempted to restore his shattered faith through his work on the church and his bond with Eko. But now it seemed that all his penitence had been for nothing. If there was a God then it seemed the only thing this God wanted for Charlie was to see him obliterated from this world.

Charlie came to a sudden stop. A little way beyond the fringes of the jungle, he could see a paddock and a farmhouse topped with a large satellite dish. The grey cat which he had been following was sitting outside the wide bay doors of the building as though encouraging Charlie to venture inside. It was all very quiet and desolate around the farmhouse. Charlie supposed that it might be deserted. And even if it wasn't the sun was only just beginning to rise. He imagined there wouldn't be a soul stirring at this hour. He crept towards the entrance.

The lower floor of the house was a comfy living space with a sitting room and an adjoining kitchen. For a moment Charlie thought he had gotten lucky. He could live on this farm and tend to its animals. It wouldn't be as bad as living out in that creepy jungle. Then he noticed the man lying on the sofa. He wore a blue boiler suit and had a black patch over his eye. Charlie winced. He took Locke's knife out of his pack, clutching it in shaky hands. But the man on the couch was fast asleep. He seemed dead to the world.

Charlie decided not to linger. He would have a little explore of the house and then scram. Well, maybe he would steal some food and utensils while he was here. Charlie had broken into houses before when he needed to pay off the money that he owed to Tommy. He was an efficient burglar, light on his feet and quick with his fingers. Sometimes being small and insignificant was a benefit to him.

This had been the plan until Charlie had found the computer room. He found himself looking at a checked screen with the message 'Ready to play Y/N?' displayed across it. A computer voice was repeating this message over and over, though it didn't seem to be disturbing the man asleep in the living room. Charlie closed the door. He found a pair of headphones to plug into the computer so as to be sure he wouldn't make too much noise. Then he hit the Y key. Charlie just couldn't resist. He had been a member of the chess club at his high school. It was closely kept secret of his that before he became a Rock God he had been a total geek.

After playing a few moves Charlie got the strange feeling that he was being watched. He turned and saw a camera on the wall that was pointed at him. He paused his game for a moment and stood up to investigate. There was a little red button on the side of the camera which he pressed. He frowned into the lens. He wasn't sure whether he had just switched the camera on or off. He wasn't sure which was better for him. He decided not to tamper with things.

Charlie went back to his chess game. After playing a few more moves he managed to get the computer in checkmate. He smiled as a silly little tune was played into his headphones. Suddenly an Asian man appeared on the screen and started spouting a load of gibberish. Charlie recognised him from the Dharma tapes that they had found at the hatch. He couldn't really follow what the old man was saying, but he started paying attention when he gave the instruction -

"_For mainland communication enter 3–8." _

Charlie's skin prickled with excitement. Mainland communication? Was that what this station was used for? He thought about the satellite dish that he had seen on the roof. If he could communicate with someone from the outside world then…then he could bring rescue. He could get them all saved!

Charlie quickly punched in the numbers. After he had done this a bar appeared in the centre of the screen and slowly began to fill with colour. It looked as though it was searching for a signal. Through his headphones there came the sound of static. Then through the static they came a voice –

"Hello? Hello?" said the voice. "Is there somebody out there?"

Charlie quickly rummaged the desk drawers until he found a microphone. He plugged the mic into the computer and then spoke the word "Hello" in a low voice. The voice in his headphones echoed his "Hello" back at him a few more times. It was a man's voice. A man with a strange accent. As Charlie listened very closely he thought he could hear the sound of another man's voice in the background.

"Who is this?!" Charlie hissed, cutting through the endless chorus of Hellos.

"This is the Listening Station," the voice replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**Characters: **Desmond, Sayid and Charlie (Desmond POV).

**Author's Notes: **Yes! I'm finally up to Chapter 5! I've not many notes on this instalment, except that I personally think it is the most exciting chapter so I hope you all enjoy it.

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Desmond descended the ladder into the Pearl station and found Sayid crouching behind the computer terminals, fiddling with the electronics. A jotter book was lying open on one of the leather chairs, its pages filled with meticulous notations, some in English and some in Arabic with diagrams alongside. It looked as though Sayid had been very busy trying to make senses of it all.

Sayid rose to his feet as Desmond made his breathless entrance.

"I need your help, brother," he gasped, panting for breath. "It's Charlie. He's run off into the jungle. We have to find him and bring him back to camp."

Sayid's face tensed with concern. Then he frowned.

"Pardon me for raising my old suspicions, Desmond, but does Charlie running off have something to do with you?"

"Aye, I'm afraid it does," he confessed. Desmond really didn't relish the thought of revealing his flashes to anyone else, but he would have to be honest with Sayid from now on. "Listen I can explain everything," he told him. "But please let me tell you on the way. We have to hurry, brother! It's important that we get him back to camp. You have no idea how important…"

Desmond fell silent. Something over Sayid's shoulder had caught his eye. One of the monitors had blinked to life and a face had appeared on its screen. The face of young man with large eyes, unkempt hair and a snub nose that always put Desmond in mind of a Dickensian pickpocket. Charlie's face.

"Oh Christ…" Desmond said faintly.

Charlie was frowning into the camera. Then he shrugged his shoulders and sat in front of a computer terminal, placing a set of headphones over his ears. Sayid turned to see what had caught Desmond's attention. When he saw Charlie on the screen he rushed over to the TV monitor and adjusted its controls to improve the picture quality. He turned the volume up to the maximum.

"What…what the hell is he doing?!" Desmond stammered.

Sayid squinted at the screen in confusion.

"It appears that he is playing a game of computer chess."

"But…but where is he?! What is that place?"

Sayid hurried over to the leather chair and began flicking through his notes. He found the page he was looking for and traced his finger over his scribbled sentences.

"This is the feed for a Dharma Initiative Station called 'The Flame'. It is one of the stations that Locke drew on his map. I've no idea how we could find it. The map wasn't what you would call geographically accurate."

Sayid glanced up at the monitor again. Suddenly he turned to Desmond with a grave look of realisation and apprehension on his face.

"This was the screen where we saw the man with the eye patch."

"The man with the eye patch?!" Desmond spluttered. "Well, where is he?"

Sayid swallowed. "Hopefully he is not at home."

The two men looked back at the screen. The computer that Charlie was playing his game on was now flashing with the message 'You win!' Charlie grinned and did a little dance in his chair. Then suddenly Marvin Candle appeared on the computer screen. Desmond and Sayid could not hear what was being said since Charlie was wearing headphones. Desmond imagined he was describing the function of the station like he did in all the Dharma videos. He watched as Charlie took a microphone from one of the drawers and plugged it into the computer.

"Hello?" said Charlie, speaking in a low voice. "Hello? Who is this?" He paused for a moment and then asked; "What the sodding hell is a Listening Station?"

Desmond and Sayid exchanged looks of confusion.

"Look here," Charlie continued. "Are you in another hatch on the island or are you actually from the mainland like that Dharma bloke said?" He fell silent, waiting for a response. Then suddenly his eyes widened and his face broke into a giddy smile. "Thank God for that! Listen mate, you've got to come and rescue us. There's a whole bunch of people stuck on this creepy island in the South Pacific. We were in a plane crash. Oceanic flight 815. We've been here for months!"

"Is he…is he talking to someone from the outside world?" asked Desmond.

"I believe he is," Sayid replied. He pumped his fists in triumph. "I knew it! I knew the Dharma Initiative must have had satellite communications somewhere on the island. Charlie has found it. He's done it!"

The two men smiled and slapped each others shoulders, allowing themselves to relish this moment of victory. Then they turned their attentions back to the TV monitor and listened intently to what Charlie was saying.

"No, I can't bloody well speak up!" Charlie hissed, irritably. "And I don't know anything about electromagnetic anomalies either. I know our hatch imploded and the sky turned purple if it helps. What's that mate? You want me to speak to Miss Widmore? Okay then. Get her on the blower and I'll talk to her."

Desmond felt his heart clench in his chest. His whole body began to shiver with emotion. He hadn't felt this way since the night that Penny's letter had fallen from the pages of 'Our Mutual Friend'. This moment felt like a dream. He wasn't sure he dared to believe it. For a time he had been convinced that the world beyond the island and all the people in it had been destroyed. That there was nothing left for him to hope for. But as he listened to Charlie his hopes were being restored. He was overwhelmed with love for Penny.

"Desmond?" said Charlie. He smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah, I know Desmond. Mad Scottish feller, right? He's stuck on the island with the rest of us, love. He was shipwrecked here three years ago. Yeah, he's okay. He's alive and well. Calm down, darling. This is bloody weird, you know…I had this dream that I spoke to a woman just like you. Did you dream it too?"

Desmond was wringing his hands and laughing through his tears. His heart swelled with gratitude towards Charlie. He was ready to fall down in his knees and thank God that he had been allowed to keep the little bugger alive for this long. Charlie had repaid him a hundred times over by passing on this message to Penny. He felt Sayid lay a consoling hand upon his shoulder.

"You deserve this," the Iraqi said softly. "You've been alone here for far too long."

Desmond turned to smile at Sayid…but suddenly a vision flashed into his mind. A vision that drowned out all his other senses…

_Desmond saw a man lying asleep on a couch. A man with a black eye patch. A grey cat was licking and nuzzling his hand. The man awoke and rubbed his one good eye. He stoked the cat's head and then made his way into the kitchen to open a tin of meat for his pet. When he was halfway across the room he halted and turned his head towards a door behind him. He could hear a voice in the room beyond that door. A voice that he had not expected to hear in his house..._

_The man crept towards the door and pressed his ear against it. After listening for a moment he strode across the living room and took a rifle from his closet. He loaded the weapon and then marched back to the door. And all of a sudden Desmond could hear the voice too. It was Charlie's voice. _

Desmond shook himself, clearing the vision from his mind.

"He's…he's got to get out!" he gasped in a panic. "There's a man with a gun…he'll kill him if he finds him…he's got to get out of there!!"

Sayid recoiled from Desmond, looking startled and perplexed.

"What man? What are you talking about?"

Desmond rushed towards the monitor and started yelling at the screen like a lunatic. "Get out, Charlie!" he screamed. "Get out of there! _Now_!"

Sayid restrained him. "He can't hear you, Desmond!"

On the screen, Charlie frowned and removed his headphones. It almost seemed as though he had heard Desmond or at least had been warned by some sixth sense that he was in danger. Charlie switched off the computer and looked around frantically for a hiding place. Finding nowhere to take cover, Charlie flattened himself out against the wall. The door swung open and the man with the eye patch stepped inside. By lucky chance Charlie was on the same side of the room as the man's blind eye and so remained unseen in his peripheral vision.

Desmond and Sayid held their breath as they watched the man wander over to the computer terminal. He picked up a hunting knife that was lying on the surface of the desk. They noticed Charlie wincing in the background, no doubt wishing that he had taken more care to keep a hold of this weapon. Then Charlie glanced towards the open door. He looked ready to bolt when the man turned and clapped eyes on him. Charlie tried to run for it, but his pursuer had longer strides. He caught Charlie just outside the doorway and struck him over the head with the butt of his rifle. Charlie collapsed to the ground, falling beyond their sight.

The man with the eye patch stood glaring over his intruder. He turned towards the camera with an expression of seething rage. Then letting out a growl of frustration he raised his rifle, pointed towards the floor and fired off four shots. Desmond felt his body convulsing as the shots rang out. It felt like each of the bullets was piercing his own flesh. Sayid stood frozen with shock. They watched in disgust as the man spat on the floor near Charlie's body. Then he turned to scowl at the camera once more. He marched towards it, his face filling the screen.

"Let this be a lesson to you!" the man hissed, menacingly. "Do not send anymore spies! Do you understand? All spies will be executed."

He covered up the camera with his hand.

The TV screen turned to black.

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Desmond and Sayid walked slowly back to camp, dragging their feet every step of the way, a solemn silence hanging between them. Desmond's mind and spirits were numbed. The overwhelming joy he had felt upon learning that Penny was searching for him had been crushed as he witnessed Charlie's death and the failure of their quest. The universe had won and Desmond knew in his heart that Penny would never find him now. Fate would not allow them to be together just as it hadn't allowed Charlie to live. There was no use in hoping. It was over.

Sayid came to an abrupt halt, steadying himself against a tree. His face was creased and his teeth were gritted. His eyes were shinning with unshed tears. Desmond had thought of this man as cool and methodical, but now he seemed stricken with grief. When Sayid spoke his voice was thick and strained.

"Charlie was the first person I spoke to after our plane crash…" he confided in Desmond. "He helped me to build our first signal fire and then…then we talked into the night. I always liked talking with him. He never judged me for who I was, where came from or the things I had done…so I never judged him. He was a good man. Or at least…he tried to be a good man. He was a better man than people gave him credit for. He was loyal and caring…" Sayid sighed heavily and then in a frail voice he added, "…he made me laugh."

Sayid fell silent, bowing his head in sorrow. Desmond placed a tentative hand on his back. He hadn't realised that Sayid and Charlie had been close. He found himself feeling responsible for his mourning. He was the one person who could have saved Charlie and he had failed in his mission. If Desmond had only kept a better watch over him he could have prevented this.

Desmond's feelings of shame and failure became crippling when he caught sight of Hurley and Claire standing on the outskirts of the camp, waiting for their return. He could see the fear in their eyes when they realised that Charlie was not with them. Desmond remembered how that morning he had promised to bring him back. He looked to the ground. He couldn't face them now. He was relieved when Sayid offered to be the one to break the news.

While the braver man carried out this grim duty, Desmond fled to his tent like a coward. He buried himself beneath his blanket and clamped his hands over his ears. But there was no point in trying to hide from it. He could hear the sound of Claire's wailing sobs from across the beach. Her cries gnawed at him like wild beasts tearing him apart. He reached into his pack and clasped at the bottle of Dharma gin that he had secretly been hoarding to guard against hard times. He unscrewed the cap and began to guzzle down the burning liquor, allowing it to scorch his throat and his heart. He swallowed it like medicine though he knew it would not cure him or take away his pain. All he wanted from it was oblivion.

When he dared to, Desmond lifted his head and peered outside his shelter. He could see the rest of the camp huddled around Sayid, listening to him as he described Charlie's final moments. The soldier tried to offer them a little hope by telling them that Charlie might have succeeded in making contact with people who could bring rescue to the island. But the castaways had grown weary of unfulfilled promises of rescue. All they could digest was that one of their own had been murdered by one of them. That gave them nothing to hope for.

The camp seemed flattened by the news of Charlie's death. He wasn't necessarily what you would call a popular member of the group, but he was somebody who mingled with everyone. He was always buzzing around, giving off a lot of energy and making a lot of noise. He would chatter to anybody, whether they wanted to listen or not. They had all gotten used to him and even if they only knew him as that annoying little Englishman who never shuts up they still knew Charlie and felt his absence. It seemed horribly quiet on the beach now.

Desmond couldn't stand being conscious any longer. He drained the rest of the gin and then sprawled in the sand. He waited for sleep to take him and relieve him of the pain of all that he had lost and let slip away.

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Even in his dreams Desmond found he could not escape his despair.

He was sitting on the beach, drunk and dishevelled, as he had been on his first day in this camp. The rest of the group weren't talking to him. He could hear them all whispering and throwing accusatory glances at him, but they remained huddled around their tents and did not approach him. He knew they blamed him for what had happened. Desmond didn't resent them for it. He blamed himself too. He had taken away all their hopes.

Suddenly the sound of singing drifted over the beach...

"_Today was gonna be the day, but they'll never throw it back to you  
By now you should've somehow realized what you're not to do  
I don't believe that aaaaanybody feels the way I do about you now…" _

Desmond turned to see Charlie strolling along the beach, strumming the guitar that was strapped over his shoulder. But this wasn't the Charlie he had come to know on the island. This was the Charlie that he had glanced at in London all those years ago. The cheeky Mancunian boy busking for change on the street corner.

"_And all the roads we have to walk are winding  
And all the lights that light the way are blinding  
There are many things that I would like to say to you __but I don't know hhhhoooowwww..."_

The young musician lifted his eyes from his frets and tilted his head at Desmond.

"Hey Dessy!" he said, brightly.

"Hey pal…" he replied in a hollow voice.

"Got any requests?" Charlie asked.

Desmond smiled weakly and shook his head.

"I think anything you play will only make me cry, brother…"

Charlie frowned, seeming offended. "Give me a break! I'm not that bad." Undeterred by Desmond's mood, he started strumming once again.

"_I said maybbbbeee…__you're gonna be the one that saves mmmeeeee...a__nd after aaaaaallllllll…"_

"Ah, bollocks!" Charlie cursed. He had broken one of his guitar strings, leaving him unable to finish the song. Charlie shrugged, apologetically. Then he laid down his instrument and sat beside Desmond in the sand.

Desmond swallowed. "I'm sorry, brother...I'm sorry I couldn't save you…"

"That's okay, mate. No hard feelings."

Desmond paid no attention to Charlie's breezy forgiveness.

"I…I failed you..." he continued. "I failed us both. I had my chance and I blew it. This was my test. The woman in the ring shop…the man with red shoes…I understand it now…I was being given the chance to change things. But I…I messed up, brother. Now I'm never going to see Penny again."

"Oh so that's why you're in a mood!" said Charlie with a knowing smirk. "You're jealous, right? Because I got to talk to your bird. She's a Knightsbridge girl, isn't she? Very classy. You found a good one there, Des..."

Desmond sighed and shook his head. It was depressing enough being confronted with Charlie in his dreams without him bringing Penny into it as well.

"_Miss_ Widmore," Charlie went on. "Did you hear that, Dessy? Looks like she didn't marry that other feller after all. She's been very loyal to you, brother. You never should've doubted her."

"Aye…you're right there, pal…" He turned to Charlie, eyeing him with curiosity. "Did she say anything else about me?"

"She wouldn't stop going on about you, Des! The poor girl's been searching for you for years. She's been putting all her time and money into finding you. She must really love you, Des. She's been missing you like crazy."

"Really?" he asked faintly. "She said that to you?"

Charlie nodded, emphatically. "She said she's really been missing that all hot highland action in the bedroom."

Desmond's brow creased with confusion. "What?!"

Charlie grinned, mischievously. "Only kidding, Des. She wouldn't tell me that. She's a lady."

Desmond rolled his eyes, feeling exasperated.

"You know for a guy who has just been shot to pieces you're awfully chirpy."

His irritation showed in his voice. Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"Well, excuse me!" He climbed to his feet, brushed down his clothes and picked up his guitar. "I'll leave you to be a miserable git then shall I?"

"Aye. I think you better had do."

Charlie looked spurned. He bowed his head and began trudging away from Desmond. Then suddenly stopped and turned as if remembering something of special importance.

"Oh Dessy…one last thing…" said Charlie.

"What's that, pal?" he asked tiredly.

Charlie smiled and winked at him. "I'm not dead."


	6. Chapter 6

**Characters: **Charlie, Mikhail, Ben and Locke.

**Author's Notes:** I hadn't planned on posting this until next week, but I've had so many nice reviews and requests for speedy updates that it has encouraged me to hurry along with Chapter Six. Looks like flattery will get you everywhere!

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When Charlie came around he was lying facedown on the floor with blood in his eyes and a harsh ringing in his ears. Four bullets were imbedded in the planking very close to his head. Before he could comprehend what was happening a pair of hands grabbed his upper arms and hauled him to his feet. He was marched across the room and flung down on the couch. Charlie blinked and wiped the blood from his face. The man with the eye-patch was looming over him.

"Who are you?!" the man hissed aggressively.

"Ch-Charlie…" he stammered. "…Charlie Pace…" He swallowed, nervously. The man did not seem satisfied with his answer. Not knowing what else to say Charlie added, "…I play bass in Driveshaft."

The man frowned as though Charlie were speaking in code.

"What were you doing on my computer?"

"Playing chess," he said, weakly. "The computer beat me."

"But I heard you talking," said the man with a sharp edge of suspicion in his voice. "Who were you talking to?!"

"I was…I was talking to myself. I'm a little bit odd like that. I'm sorry…I'm getting blood all over your furniture."

The man snorted a laugh and shook his head at Charlie.

"English…" he muttered, as though _that_ explained everything. "How did you come to be here, Englishman?" he asked.

"I was in a plane crash…we crashed on this island three months ago. I've been living on the beach with the other survivors."

"And why aren't you with them now?"

"I…I had to leave."

The man squinted at him. "_Had_ to leave?" A light came into his eye. "Have you been banished by your people? Are you an outcast?"

The idea seemed to appeal to his captor, so Charlie went along with it. It was an easy lie to fall into since only a few weeks back Charlie had been an outcast. A pariah in the camp. He hadn't forgotten how it felt.

"Yeah, an outcast, yeah…they all treated me like scum! I was a drug addict, you see. I got clean on the island, but it's not like they ever gave me any credit for that. It's not easy when there's a plane full of heroin just sitting out in the jungle! So I took a few of the statues, but I didn't bloody use! Not that they believed me, of course. Never trust a junkie, that's what they think!"

While Charlie was railing about his ill-treatment, the man took a medical kit from the shelf and bandaged the cut on his forehead.

"Then there were those weird dreams I was having about the baby," Charlie rambled. "That he was trapped inside a piano and his cradle was floating out to sea. I had to do something! The first time I took him was a total misunderstanding. I was bloody sleep walking! But would they listen to me? Would they heck. The second time I was only going to the ocean to baptise him. That bald wanker didn't have to punch me over it. It's not like I _meant_ for the fire to get so big…"

"You can stop talking now," said the man, tying off the bandage.

Charlie slumped back on the couch. He was feeling very dizzy and nauseous. His lips were flapping out of control and there was a pulse building up behind his eyes. He fingered the swelling lump on his brow; a new wound on his already well dented head. He tried to resist the urge to sleep.

After placing the medical kit back on its shelf, the man tied his wrists and ankles – rather unnecessarily Charlie thought since he didn't think he could even stand upright, let alone run away. Then the man wandered into the kitchen to make some breakfast for himself and his pet. Once he had eaten he returned to the living room and sat staring into space, stroking the cat in his lap.

"I…I don't think you're going to kill me," Charlie said faintly, his head spinning, his skin turning cold and moist. "I'm not destined to die this way. He told me so. He said that when I die…it will be for her…"

The man ignored him. Charlie's vision began to blur. He continued to murmur to himself as his mind fell into a stupor. After a while he was roused by the sound of hooves thundering toward the farmhouse. He lifted his head and saw a black woman in a long dress with strange eyes entering the building.

He remembered Hurley describing a woman such as this. She had been one of the people who had captured the rescue team sent after Walt. Now Charlie knew he had fallen into the hands of the Others, not some lone nutcase like Rousseau. The woman and the one-eyed man spoke together in a language that Charlie did not understand. The woman then strolled over to the sofa and looked down at Charlie like he was an insect she was thinking about crushing.

"You should take him to Ben," she said, evenly. "He may prove useful."

With that the woman opened her bag and took out a syringe. She pulled his t-shirt back from his shoulder and plunged the needle into his arm. Charlie felt his body turning numb as everything faded to black.

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Charlie woke up in a dark metallic room that was lit overhead by a single dimming light-bulb. There was a chain looped around his ankle which was attached to a hook on the wall. His shoes were missing. He raised a hand to his throbbing temples and found his bandages had been replaced by butterfly stitches. Charlie groaned inwardly. He tried to think of something positive about this situation. _At least I'm not dead_, he thought. That was all he could come up with.

He had only been awake for a few minutes when the door opened and an owlish man in a wheelchair entered his cell. Charlie recognised him immediately as Henry Gale. Or at least the man who had pretended to be Henry Gale.

"You were that guy they had in the hatch…" Charlie croaked.

The man smiled as if they were having a friendly reunion.

"So you remember me, Charlie?" he said pleasantly. "I remember you too. You were there that night in the Swan, weren't you? That night when your people discovered that I was one of your enemies. I remember there was Jack, Sayid, Ana, Locke and Kate…I had the whole pack of them crowding around me! They were threatening me and interrogating me." He shuddered at the memory. Then he smiled again. "But you, Charlie…you were just standing in a corner flipping through the record collection. I think the others forgot you were there. You didn't say anything, but I could tell you were taking it all in. I found that very interesting."

He gave Charlie a little nod as though commending him on a wise strategy. Then he leaned forward in his chair and extended his hand.

"My name is Benjamin Linus…I've lived on this island all my life."

Charlie ignored the handshake. "Where am I?"

"I don't think your location would mean very much to you," Ben said vaguely. "This is just where we are holding you until we decide what to do with you. Mikhail thought you might be a willing informant."

"Forget it. I'm not telling you anything."

"It's a little late for that, Charlie. You've been delirious for the last two days. We've heard some very interesting stories from you."

Charlie shifted, uncomfortably. He dreaded to think what secrets he had been spilling in his sleep. He attempted to change the subject.

"Why are you in that wheelchair?" he questioned.

"I recently underwent surgery for tumour on my spine," Ben explained.

"So that's why you took, Jack!" said Charlie, suddenly realising. "Where is he? What have you bastards done with him?"

"That isn't your concern, Charlie. Jack doesn't know you're here and I don't plan on telling him. Jack gets so very temperamental when he knows we are holding his friends captive. I don't wish to upset him again."

Ben rubbed his neck, seeming pained.

"I ought to be healing by now…" he groaned. "I know a terminal illness can happen to anybody, but you can't help but feel _cursed_ when God picks on you…but then I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you Charlie?"

His tone was sinister and surreptitious.

"Tell me…who is the Scottish man? The man who is having all these visions of your death? The one who is defying fate by saving your life? We know that there was no man of Scottish origin on your plane…"

Charlie shook his head. "Do you seriously think that I'm going to help you kidnap and torture anymore of my friends?"

Ben feigned a look of innocence and confusion.

"We only wish to meet him and talk to him, Charlie. You do jump to some ghastly conclusions. But, of course…first impressions count and what Ethan did to you was…_extreme_. Believe me, Charlie, I didn't approve of him hanging you from that tree. It wasn't my order. But Ethan was trying to complete his mission under difficult circumstances. I'm afraid there are times when we must resort to desperate measures in the service of a greater good..."

Charlie squinted and tilted his head. "Are you sure that you people aren't confusing being _good_ with being sick in the head?"

Ben smiled and twined his fingers. "Well, I don't know, Charlie...we've heard you often make the same mistake yourself..."

Charlie lowered his stare, unnerved by this comment. He wondered how much the Others knew about him. Did they know he had been a junkie? Did they know about the lies he had told? Did they…did they know about Sun? Charlie knew he was no longer a pure person. He couldn't deny his sins. But he wasn't about to add to them by betraying his friends. Not a chance.

"I don't care what you think of me," Charlie muttered. "I'm not helping you evil freaks. You may as well just kill me..."

Ben laughed. A dark unwholesome laugh.

"Oh, I won't be killing you. I'm far too superstitious. I have just been delivered from death myself. Do you know, Charlie, I think God sent a man to save my life. And now I am wondering…did he send one for you too?"

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Charlie spent most of the following day pacing his cell, wandering back and forth as far as his chain would allow. The only thing that broke up the tedious hours was the guards bringing him food and water. When he was tired of pacing, he started writing songs in his head. After a while he sat down on the cold floor and started tapping out rhythms on the pipes. His composition was interrupted by a voice that spoke to him through a small intercom on the wall.

"Charlie?" said the voice. "Charlie?"

It was the voice of Benjamin Linus. Charlie snorted and ignored him.

"Aren't you speaking to me, Charlie?" Ben persisted.

"What do you want, you bug-eyed cretin?"

"A very pleasant evening to you too, Charlie. I thought you might want to know I'm sending one of your friends down to see you."

Charlie's eyes widened. He rose eagerly to his feet. _Jack_, thought Charlie, _it has to be Jack! _SurelyJack would have a plan to get them out of here…

The door opened and through it stepped John Locke.

"Oh…it's you." Charlie sighed. He slumped back against the wall.

"Sorry if I'm a disappointment," Locke replied, unabashed.

"I take it the rescue mission didn't go well then?"

"You could say that…" Locke answered cryptically. He was carrying a sandwich on a plate and bottle of water, which he placed beside Charlie. He sat crossed-legged on the floor. "How are you, Charlie?"

"Well Locke apart from the universe repeatedly trying to kill me everything is just peachy. What are you doing here?"

Locke shrugged. "I'm bringing you your last meal,"

Charlie snorted. "Sorry John, I've not quite reached the gallows humour stage yet. Nice try though. So does you bringing me my food mean that you've joined them? You know it wouldn't surprise me. I mean you're creepy, you're sadistic, you talk a load of bollocks…you'd fit in perfectly."

Secretly Charlie was pleased to see Locke. He had been longing for a familiar face. But after a day locked in this cell with a splitting headache he also needed to let off steam. Insulting Locke was very therapeutic.

"I'm a prisoner like you, Charlie," Locke told him. "I'm just cooperating with them. It gives me a chance to make sense of what is going on here. Kate won't give them an inch, so she is locked in a cell like you are."

Charlie nodded and fell silent. Locke was being polite and friendly towards him, smiling at him fondly. Somehow this made Charlie more uneasy than if Locke were being cold and severe.

"Do you know it's funny…" Locke began, shaking his head wonderingly. "Desmond having all these psychic visions of your death…do you know what I thought about you when we first met, Charlie?"

Charlie remembered that Locke had been the only person who had recognised him and had heard of his band. The acknowledgement had given him a tremendous rush of confidence. In those first few weeks Charlie had thought the old hunter might be one of the only people who actually respected him.

"What did you think of me?" he asked, intrigued.

"Dead within a week…" Locke answered.

Charlie exhaled. "And here was I expecting a compliment."

"That _was_ a compliment. You've proven that you have the will to survive. Do you even remember what you were like three months ago, Charlie? It didn't seem like you stood much of a chance. You were small, weak and unhealthy, poisoning your body with that drug of yours. You lacked the skills to feed, shelter and protect yourself. You were clumsy, accident prone, walking around in a daze…I said to myself if I don't help this kid then he's done for."

"I'm not your sodding charity case!" Charlie snapped. Then he looked to the floor, instantly regretting his rebuke. He knew Locke was right. Whatever had happened between them since, this man had saved his life in those early weeks. Charlie would always be grateful to him for that.

"You didn't have to help me, John…" Charlie added, limply.

"I wanted to help you," answered Locke. "I liked you."

"You didn't like me much when you were punching me in the face."

Now it was Locke's turn to look shameful, though like Charlie he couldn't muster up an apology. "I couldn't help you a second time," he reasoned. "I had to be harsh. You needed to learn to help yourself. And you did Charlie. I sat there and I watched you throw every last one of those statues into the ocean with nobody pressuring you to do it. You were your own saviour that day."

Charlie raised his head. He had promised himself that he wasn't going to be taken in by anymore of this sanctimonious twaddle from Locke. But with things they way they were he was tempted to feel comforted by his old mentor. Charlie wanted to trust John Locke again. The man who he had surrendered his heroin too. The man who he had once believed could save them all.

"You're stronger than you know, Charlie," said Locke, repeating his old peptalk. "That's why I have faith that you will survive this next test."

Charlie blinked. "What test?" he asked, apprehensively.

"Ben wants to test Desmond's powers," Locke explained. "He wants to know if these premonitions are real and accurate. You see, Charlie, the question of whether or not mankind has free will is very important to the work they do here. Your situation throws open a larger debate - can man save himself from seemingly inevitable extinction? I myself am very curious to learn the answer to that question. What is more I think Ben feels a connection to you, Charlie. He wants to know if his God sent a tumour to kill him or whether he sent a spinal surgeon to save him. He needs you and Desmond to restore his faith."

"What is the test, Locke?!" he asked, impatiently.

Locke winced, narrowing his eyes. "It would appear that these flashes of Desmond's only occur when your life is endangered..."

Charlie spluttered and shook his head, incredulously. "He's not a bloody superhero you know! If Ben tries shooting me or pushing me off a cliff then Desmond is not going to pull on a cape and fly to my rescue!"

"Not all forms of death are immediate…" said Locke.

Charlie's smile froze upon his lips.

"…like I said...this is your last meal," he concluded.

Charlie stared at Locke in disbelief. He waited for him to admit that this was another one of his sick jokes. But the punchline didn't come. Locke stood up to leave the cell. Charlie scrambled forwards on his hands and knees but the chain around his ankle caught and restrained him.

"Wait!" Charlie cried out in desperation. "You can't just leave me to…"

"Don't worry," Locke interrupted. "Desmond will come."

"You're bloody insane!" Charlie exploded. "Don't make out that this is part of some enlightening test for the good of mankind! This is _you _locking me in a room and leaving me to starve! You can't do this…"

"It's not my decision, Charlie. However I do think it is a worthy experiment and I have every belief that it will be successful. I think you need your faith restoring too. You don't believe that Desmond will save you. Deep down you probably don't even think you are worth saving..."

"Stop talking like you know what's best for me, John!" Charlie raged. "You know nothing about me!"

"Really!" Locke exclaimed, his eyes widening. "Let me tell you what I know about you, Charlie. I know that for most of your life you have been trampled over because you so desperately want to feel useful. I know that for a long time now you have been searching for affirmation. You have been wanting something to happen to make you feel like there is a purpose to your existence. Something to make you feel important. Well, guess what Charlie – _now_ you're important!"

With these words, Locke closed the door upon him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Characters:** Desmond, Claire, Sayid, Hurley, Charlie, Locke, Alex and Ben (Desmond POV).

**Author's Notes:** I'm very pleased to get this chapter finished. It has been so long-winded and heavy-going. This is definitely the most angsty instalment so far (sorry Charlie fans! It gets worse...) but I do love Desmond's inner turmoil. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing this fic. You make the slog worthwhile! Only one more chapter to go...

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Desmond trudged slowly across the moonlit beach. The camp was silent but for the soft snores breathing from the rows of tents. Everyone was asleep. Everyone apart from the young mother sitting alone on the edge of the camp, staring vacantly out to sea. Her baby was cradled in her arms, squirming and whimpering, his red cheeks scrunched with unhappiness. Claire was still as a statue, her body frozen and her face mask-like. There was no movement except for the breeze stirring her yellow curls and the silent tears sliding down her cheeks.

Desmond stood awkwardly before her. After she failed to respond to his presence he sat down beside her in the sand. His throat was dry and aching after his drinking binge earlier that afternoon. He couldn't summon words into his mouth. In the end it was Claire that broke the silence between them.

"Aaron's been crying for hours…" she said, her voice toneless and remote. "He won't settle. It's like he knows…babies know this stuff."

Claire's eyes traced the shoreline. She didn't look at Desmond.

"Charlie hated the beach. The sand fleas would never leave him alone…they were always nipping at him. And if it wasn't the sand fleas, it was his heat rash. He wasn't used to the sunny weather. He liked it better in the caves..."

Claire closed her eyes and swallowed.

"After Ethan took me, Kate said Charlie came back to live on the beach. She told me he spent whole days sitting in the sand, looking over the ocean…not talking to anyone. Kate said without me he felt like he was…_crumbling_."

Her voice was straining against her tears. She fell silent, rocking the baby in her arms. Desmond took a breath and gathered up his courage to speak.

"I think…I owe you an explanation…" he said, haltingly.

Claire nodded, though she kept her eyes closed and her head bowed. Sighing heavily, Desmond began to tell her about the flashes he had been experiencing ever since the hatch implosion. How he had been struggling to save Charlie from these reoccurring visions of his death. How fate seemed determined to take his life. How one drunken evening he had confessed the truth to Charlie, burdening him with the knowledge of his imminent doom. How in the end Charlie had relieved him of the responsibility of protecting him and disappeared into the jungle.

Claire listened calmly, taking everything in. She seemed oddly accepting of his strange story. Almost like she had figured it out for herself.

"So you're psychic," said Claire, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know, I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for a psychic…"

Claire proceeded to tell Desmond a sinister tale about a psychic called Richard Malkin who had become obsessed with her pregnancy, insisting that great danger would surround her baby. Claire confessed that she had been planning to give up the child for adoption, but her psychic had insisted that she raise him herself. Then one day he bought her tickets for Oceanic Flight 815, saying there was a couple in Los Angeles who would make suitable foster parents.

"Charlie made me realise how he tricked me," said Claire. "There was no couple in LA. He knew all about the crash. He wanted me to be stranded here."

Desmond shrugged. "Maybe he thought you and Aaron needed to be together. Maybe he thought you had to come to this place to realise that."

Claire nodded, but she seemed very far away. "Charlie…he had all these dreams about Aaron being in danger. He wanted so badly for Aaron to be baptised. I didn't really agree with him. I'm not into religion. But he got so upset over it. In the end I went to Eko and he baptised us both. He said the baptism meant we would always be together. I was thankful for that…"

Claire paused, frowning thoughtfully.

"Do you think the dreams we have on this island mean something?" she asked. "You know…like your visions of the future?"

"I think you might be onto something, sister," said Desmond. "I can tell you that Charlie has had dreams which have come to pass."

Desmond described the dream that Charlie had recounted to him. How he had spoken to his lost love Penelope and she had told him that she was searching for the island. He told Claire how he had watched this very scene unfolding on the Pearl monitors when Charlie had made contact with the Listening Station. Then Desmond tentatively began to tell Claire what he had dreamt in his tent that afternoon. How Charlie had appeared to him and told him he wasn't dead.

He watched anxiously for Claire's response, but the girl was still looking over the waves, her eyes staring into the distance; lost in contemplation. With a sudden jolt of memory Desmond reached into his pocket and clasped the silver ring that Charlie had left behind. He held it out to Claire in his open palm, thinking it could be the one thing that would recover her from her trance.

"Charlie wanted me to give this to you," Desmond said, sheepishly. "I think that he was hoping to ask you to marry him…"

Desmond examined the lumpy piece of jewellery in his hand. The design was loud and quirky. The metal was scuffed with dirt and dents. But the ring had an odd charm to it…just like the man who had worn it.

"I know it's not gonna blind any queens…" Desmond found himself saying, "…but it still has a sparkle of life."

On hearing this, Claire turned to meet his stare for the first time. The light returned to her eyes and a rush of colour came into her cheeks.

"You really believe it, don't you?" she said in wonder.

"Aye sister," Desmond nodded. "Charlie told me."

Claire smiled, joining him in his faith that somewhere on the island Charlie was still living and breathing. She held out her hand and allowed Desmond to slip the ring onto her dainty finger. It twinkled in the starlight. A little glimmer of hope.

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The following week on the beach was quiet and uneventful. Kate and Locke had not returned from their mission to rescue Jack from the Others camp. The castaways were beginning to believe that they would never see their old leader and doctor again. They went about their usual routines of maintaining their shelters, gathering up food and laundering their ragged clothes. Occasionally they would glance up into the sky in the vague hope of seeing some sign of the rescuers that Charlie had been in contact with before he died. But nobody came.

All the castaways agreed that Charlie deserved a memorial, though they had no body to place in their graveyard. Bernard had the idea that they should finish the church in honour of both Charlie and the late Mr Eko, his fellow tail-end survivor. Many of the group were willing to help and with everyone working together the building work was completed in just three short days. Desmond and Hurley, both lapsed Catholics, threw themselves into the project, rediscovering their faith. Claire sat with Rose on the fringes of the church site, watching them work as she took care of Aaron. Desmond would join them on his breaks. One time he found Claire telling Rose about their secret belief that Charlie was still alive. To Desmond's surprise the old woman seemed very accepting of their faith in his survival.

"Honey, I could have told you that myself…" said Rose with a whimsical smile. "I tell you…that boy has troubles to work through on this earth before he can even think about getting into heaven."

"Rose has been teaching me to pray, Desmond," Claire told him. "Each morning we are praying that you will be sent a new vision to let us know where Charlie is. I think the church is going to help. Rose says the island is special and will grant our wishes, but we have to believe…"

Desmond nodded and forced a smile. He realised that he had inspired a renewed sense of spirituality within Claire. The girl was into her astrology and clairvoyance, but it seemed like it was her love for Charlie that was really feeding her faith. Desmond was frightened that he had given her false hope. It was almost a week now since his last flash and all his sleeps had been dreamless. Despite the labour work he was doing on the church, Desmond was finding it very difficult to sleep at night. He kept flinching and stirring, thinking that Charlie was still in his tent and that he needed to stay awake to guard him against the merciless universe. Then he would wipe his eyes and realise Charlie was no longer in his shelter. Desmond could not find him in his mind either, though he was searching for him frantically.

Then one morning it happened. Desmond had been taking a solitary walk along the shoreline when suddenly he halted in his tracks and swayed. His mind was reeling with one of his flashes…

_A vision of Charlie sitting in the corner of a dark room. He was barefoot. There was a chain around his ankle, which was fixed to the wall. He was staring at a plate that lay on the floor in the middle of the room. On this plate there was a small heap of crusts and breadcrumbs, which looked to be the remains of a sandwich. Beside the plate was a bottle filled with a few mouthfuls of water. _

_Charlie was staring at these objects with an intense longing, but also fear and trepidation. His face paled, his breathing quickened and his limbs began to shudder. Charlie pulled up the neck of his t-shirt to cover his mouth and nose, controlling his panic the way Desmond had shown him._

_Once he had calmed his respiration, Charlie crawled over to the plate and started to consume the leftovers. He broke the crusts into tiny pieces and chewed each one with a worrying desperation. He scooped up the crumbs and ate them too. Then he drained the remaining water from the bottle. _

_When he had finished these morsels, Charlie crawled back to his corner and drew his knees into his chest. Then he burst into tears. _

Desmond blinked and the vision was gone. He was left shivering in the morning sun. For some reason this flash had disturbed him more than the others, yet this was the first flash he had seen that hadn't involved the young musician's sudden death. But Desmond could sense the fear in Charlie. He knew that his life was under threat again – maybe not in immediate danger, but when the danger came it would be worse than all the other deaths Desmond had foreseen for him.

Desmond hurried back to camp. He didn't relish the thought of telling Claire what he had seen, but he had promised to alert her when the flashes returned. He feared that he would only be making matters worse. There was no way of knowing where Charlie was imprisoned. No way of rescuing him.

Desmond returned to camp to find Sayid, Hurley and Claire gathered in a circle talking in frantic whispers. For the past week Sayid had been making regular treks away from the camp. Armed with his notebook and a map that Hurley had found in the old Dharma van, Sayid had been trying to find the Flame Station, so that he might interrogate the one-eyed man to learn the truth about Charlie's death and the satellite communications. Sayid seemed certain that the man in the Flame was 'one of them' and Desmond was willing to trust his assessment. When Desmond joined the huddle he was informed that Sayid hadn't found the Flame, but he had a met with a woman named Danielle Rousseau in the jungle.

"Rousseau tells me she met with Locke and Kate some eight days ago and led them to the Others camp," Sayid explained. "A place called the Barracks. It is surrounded by a sonic barrier, which they climbed over. Danielle camped near to the perimeter fence for several days...but they did not return."

"So Kate and Locke got bagged too?" said Hurley. "Oh man. This is why the Others gave me that message never to go there…"

"Indeed," said Sayid. "But now I am afraid I must go there too. I won't stand to see our people treated this way any longer. I am going to confront them and get some answers. I owe it to Jack after my failure on the boat. If Charlie is still alive, I will find out what they have done with him."

"Charlie is alive, brother," said Desmond. "I've seen him."

Sayid, Hurley and Claire turned to stare at him. They all knew what Desmond meant when he said he had _seen _Charlie. Even Sayid knew about the flashes now. The Iraqi was sceptical of Desmond's powers, but he couldn't think of another explanation for all these near-deaths and uncanny rescues.

"You've seen Charlie?" spluttered Claire. "Where is he?"

"I can't tell exactly," said Desmond. "He was chained in a dark room. It looked like a cellar. I think Sayid is right. I think they've got him…"

Claire's eyes brimmed with tears. "Is he okay? Have they hurt him?"

"I don't think so," said Desmond, uncertainly. "But I think they might if we don't get to him soon. I'm coming with you, brother."

Sayid nodded, acceptingly. He gestured that they should pack up supplies for their mission and leave the camp immediately.

"I'm coming too," Claire insisted. "I've already made plans with Sun and Jin. They're going to take Aaron for me until we get Charlie back."

"That's not a good idea, Claire," Sayid said sternly. "Do you not remember how desperate the Others were to recapture you?"

Claire folded her arms and raised her chin.

"Well Sayid, I seem to remember that it was _your _idea to use me as bait so we could ambush Ethan," she said, pointedly. "I agreed to your plan then because I didn't want any more of our people to get hurt. So if you don't mind I would like to take the same risk. Charlie would do the same for me."

There wasn't anything that either Sayid or Desmond could say to dissuade Claire. Desmond sensed the girl had a score to settle. He had heard from Hurley how Claire and Charlie had been thoroughly terrorised by the hostile known as Ethan. She seemed to have both rescue and revenge on her mind. There would be no holding her back. So the three of them left camp within the hour. Sayid asked Hurley to serve as leader while they were away; to keep everyone calm and hold them together. Hurley was reluctant, but willing to help however he could.

It was roughly a two day walk to the Others camp. Desmond felt that time was of the essence and was leading the way with quick strides, carving a path through the dense jungle with his machete. Sayid was concerned that their pace was too much for Claire, but whenever he insisting on resting for her sake, the Australian girl would tell him to quit patronising her and get moving. They ended up walking through the night and by the late afternoon of the following day they came to the sonic barrier that rimmed the Barracks. A tree had been cut down and was propped against one of the pylons, presumably to be used as a ramp.

"This must be how Kate and Locke made it into the Others camp…" Sayid observed. "Now I don't know about you, Claire…but I could do with a break before we attempt to climb over that barrier..."

Claire sighed, relenting. The three of them lay down in the grass, resting their aching limbs and regaining their strength. Desmond felt his mind drifting in and out of sleep. Suddenly it slipped into another vision…

_He saw Charlie lying on his side on a hard metal floor. He was in the same dark cell with the same chain wound around his ankle. The only thing that had changed was Charlie himself. He was thinner. Drastically thinner. His elbows, knees and jaw had sharpened. His cheeks were hollowing below his glassy eyes. Charlie lay unmoving apart from his shallow breathing and the restless twitching of his fingers. His brow was creased as though his mind had fallen under a heavy blanket of exhaustion and was struggling to crawl back out of it…_

_A shaft of light came into the cell. Locke stepped in through the door and knelt by Charlie's side. Locke lifted him by his shoulders, holding him against his chest as he placed a bottle to his mouth. When Charlie felt the water upon his dry lips, his body jerked into awareness. His hand reached up and grasped the bottle firmly to keep it in place as he gulped down furiously. But all too soon Locke took the bottle away and placed it beyond Charlie's reach. _

_Charlie stared up at Locke beseechingly, his hands clinging to his shirt. His mouth contorted as he struggled to form words. _

"_Don't talk," Locke advised him. "Just conserve your energy. Try to think of this as another withdrawal. You survived the first one, didn't you? It won't be much longer now. Desmond is coming. I can feel it."_

_Charlie groaned as Locke pried his fingers away and laid him back down on the floor. Locke covered him with a blanket to keep him from shivering. He took the time to wrap it carefully around Charlie's feet and shoulders. For a moment Locke seemed like a father tucking his son into bed on a winter's night. The gesture was nurturing and concerned, but judging by his expression Locke's mind was somewhere else; preoccupied with matters beyond this man's well being. _

"_Desmond is coming…" Locke repeated. "You'll be saved..." _

The vision slipped away. Desmond sat upright, his eyes wide. He didn't know what had disturbed him more…what they were doing to Charlie or the reason they were doing it. From Locke's words it seemed clear that he was being led into a trap. Somehow those people had learned about his flashes. They were putting his powers to the test by subjecting Charlie to a drawn-out death. Desmond was shocked to see that boxman was involved, but then he remembered his reckless behaviour in the hatch. He supposed Locke would do almost anything in the name of faith. There he was assuring Charlie that Desmond was coming to rescue him. And even though Desmond knew he was falling in with their plans, he couldn't let Charlie down.

Desmond hurried over to Sayid and Claire, shaking them by the shoulders. He didn't tell them of his latest vision, but he insisted that it was time they attempted the climb. After successfully scaling the barrier, they hurried up the hillside and slipped into the bushes that fringed the Other's village. They found themselves looking at a wide circle of bungalow homesteads. A little civilised dwelling in the middle of the savage jungle. The afternoon light was fading and it seemed the Others had taken to their houses. The only person to be seen outdoors was a teenage girl leaning against a swing set. Claire peered through the bushes.

"That's the girl who rescued me from Ethan!" she exclaimed. "We should go to her. She isn't like the rest of them. She'll help us."

They watched as the girl rose from the swing and wandered over to one of the nearby houses, entering through the front door.

"Let's make a move then, shall we?" Desmond urged.

"No. We must wait for cover of darkness," said Sayid. "Then we will slip into that house through a window or a side door." He turned to Claire. "I think it would be best if you went in first to speak with the girl."

Claire nodded, seeming satisfied that Sayid was letting her contribute. "It's funny," said Claire, shaking her head. "She rescued me, but I don't even know her name."

"Alex," said Sayid with a strange assurance. "Her name is Alex."

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Desmond, Sayid and Claire crept along the side of the house. Peering in through the kitchen window they saw Alex sitting up to the table reading Stephen King's 'Carrie' while eating a bowl of ice cream. Desmond and Sayid lifted Claire over the ledge. She tiptoed up behind the teenage girl and quickly placed a hand over her mouth before she could shriek in fright. When Alex turned and saw Claire she rose to her feet and embraced her, seeming delighted to see her.

"Claire!" the girl whispered, excitedly. "Are you okay?"

Desmond and Sayid climbed through the window behind Claire, but Alex paid them no attention. She was caught up in their reunion.

"How's your baby?" she babbled. "Was it a little boy like you thought?"

"Alex, please listen to me," Claire interrupted. "We need your help. Can you tell us where they are keeping Charlie?"

The girl frowned. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Alex?" said a voice in a nearby room. "Alex, who are you talking to?"

Sayid appeared to recognise the voice. He narrowed his eyes, took his gun from his waistband and muttered the word _"Henry"_. With that he stormed down the corridor and barraged into the room. Desmond, Claire and Alex hurried after him. In the room there was a small pale man with bulging blue eyes lying in a hospital bed. The man flinched at the sight of Sayid aiming a gun at him.

"Oh boy…" he stammered, faintly, "…Sayid…you've got to be one of the last people I want breaking into my home in the middle of the night."

The man tilted his bed upright and raised his hands.

"I'm going to make this very simple," said Sayid, levelling his gun at the man in the bed. "I'm aware that you are holding several of our friends captive. If you release them I will let you live. Do we have an agreement?"

The man spluttered. "Gosh Sayid…let me think for a moment…"

Before he could answer, Claire marched up to the bed.

"What have you done to Charlie, you bastard!" she railed. "I've had enough of this! You people are not going to hurt anyone else over me, understand? Especially not him. What do you want from me, huh? Tell me!"

The man blinked in surprise. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seeming both perplexed and amused by Claire's speech.

"Claire…lovely and charming as you are…unless you've brought that baby along I'm afraid we have very little interest in you these days..."

Claire frowned. "Then what _do_ you want?"

The man's eyes flicked to Desmond. Slowly a private smile crept onto his face. Desmond shuffled uncomfortably.

"You're him, aren't you?" he said, his voice tinged with awe. "You're the Scottish man." He grasped the handle above his bed and pulled himself forwards. "I'm so very glad to see you. _Please. _Please tell me what you have seen. Tell me of the vision that led you here..."

Desmond swallowed. "I saw Charlie chained up in a dark room…he was thin, pale and shaking…you people have been starving him…"

Claire and Sayid looked horrified by this prophecy. The man in the bed however smiled and shook his head in amazement.

"Remarkable," he murmured. "Please, my good man…tell me more about the future. Please tell me the other things you have seen."

Desmond hissed through his teeth. Here was yet another person misinterpreting his psychic powers. It frustrated him when people expected him to be all seeing and all knowing. There was nothing majestic about what he saw.

"I saw Charlie being electrocuted when he was struck by lightning…" he answered, grimly. "I saw him drowning in the ocean…I saw him being burned alive after his clothing caught fire…"

The man frowned. "Is that the only thing you see?" he asked incredulously. "The death of that little drug addict? Nothing more?!"

Desmond shrugged. "Well, I dare say that I'll be seeing your death in a minute, pal. If you don't tell us where Charlie is then I reckon my good friend Sayid is going to blow your head off. How's that for a prediction?"

The man blinked and swallowed.

"Very well," he answered. "I won't delay your mission any longer. It is clear that you were _meant_ to save him. Just like Jack was meant to save me. I had trouble believing it at first. Thank you…thank you for helping me to believe..."

"Where are our people being held?!" Sayid snapped at him, impatiently.

The man didn't look at Sayid, but glanced over to the teenage girl who was skulking in the corner of the bedroom. Desmond noticed that she didn't seem too concerned about her father being held at gunpoint.

"Alex, please take our intruders down to the holding rooms. Pace is locked in the cell at the far end of the corridor. Tell Tom that he is to be released. Let them take Austin off our hands too. The woman is becoming a pest. Then take them all down to the barrier, deactivate the field and let them pass…"

"What about Locke and Jack?" Sayid interrupted.

"They do not wish to be rescued," the man said, bluntly. "Each of them have found investments here with us. I'll ask you not to hold me accountable for that." He turned and looked thoughtfully at Sayid. "I guess you will have to be their leader now. I'm sure you're up to the challenge."

With that, the man lowered his bed and lay back on his cushions.

"Now if you people don't mind…I need my rest…" He sighed and closed his eyes. "Kindly switch the light off on your way out."


	8. Chapter 8

**Characters:** Charlie, Desmond, Sayid, Claire and Hurley (Charlie POV).

**Author's Notes:** IT'S FINISHED! _faints _I hope you all find the ending satisfying. Big thanks to all the readers who have been following this story, posting reviews and encouraging me to update. I have loved hearing your feedback!

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**"Charlie…" whispered a voice. "Charlie, wake up…"

Charlie had heard the whisperings of many voices in his cell. He could no longer distinguish between the real voices and the voices echoing around his mind. He supposed he hadn't heard a genuine human voice since Locke had stopped coming to visit him. Over the last week Locke had been bringing him water, wrapping him in blankets and whispering words of encouragement. Then one day something changed. Charlie had felt Locke's trembling fingers pressed against his neck, feeling for his pulse. He had heard Locke's panicked voice calling his name. Charlie had sensed these touches and cries, but was too weak to respond.

A few moments later Charlie had woken up to find Locke cradling him to his chest, trying to feed him with a small piece of mango. When the fruit touched his tongue it had tasted sweet and divine. The ripe taste of salvation. But it did not last. A gang of Others had burst into the cell and started yelling at Locke, saying they had seen him smuggling food to the prisoner on their surveillance cameras. They were angry with him for corrupting the test. Locke had protested that their test was failing – that this wasn't supposed to happen, that Charlie was meant to be saved. But the Others had sneered at him and said that Ben didn't care about the junkie. He just wanted to see the prophet. Charlie had curled into a ball as the Others dragged Locke away from him and slammed the cell door closed.

Since then, nobody else had come. Charlie had pulled the rough army blanket over his head and wished the world away. He had tried to fall asleep but the knawing of his empty stomach, the dryness of his mouth and the shrieking memories in his head kept him in a wakeful torment. He could hear the voice of his mother calling to him. A vision of her floated before his eyes. But every time Charlie felt himself reaching towards her the vision would change. He would see Ethan looming over him, his hands fastening around his throat, his cold eyes piercing him. Charlie would soon be screaming and gagging, his limbs thrashing wildly. He felt himself struggling desperately for life, because every time he looked into the face of death…the face looked like Ethan.

But it wasn't the voice of Ethan or his mother that was whispering to him now. This voice was more fearful and familiar. This voice was _real._

"Charlie…come on, mate…say something!"

Desmond's voice. Charlie should have known that he would hear Desmond before the end. He had always promised to let him know when death was near.

"Des?" Charlie rasped. "Is it happening now, Des?"

"Not if I can help it, brother..." he answered.

Charlie kept his eyes shut, frightened that Desmond would transform into Ethan or worse if he opened them. He felt the chain being loosened from his ankle, the biting metal falling away from his skin. Charlie moaned as he felt himself being lifted up onto somebody's shoulders and carried out of the cell. Even with his eyes closed Charlie knew he was leaving the cell because the air wasn't so stale. He gasped and sucked it greedily into his lungs. Then feeling dizzied by the sudden sensation of movement, he allowed his mind to drift away…

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When Charlie woke he could feel wet grass between his fingers and a cool night breeze against his cheeks. His head was lying in somebody's lap and a dainty hand was caressing his brow. Charlie reached up and clutched this hand in his own. He squeezed the hand to assure himself that it was made of flesh. When he felt certain that this wasn't a hallucination he allowed his eyelids to flutter open. Claire's face was hanging over him. She was smiling through tears.

_Claire's here_, thought Charlie. _That settles it then. I've got to be dying_. He laughed weakly finding that he didn't care. He was just happy to see her again.

"It's okay…" she whispered. "You're safe now…"

He sighed. It was so sweet of her to lie.

Charlie glanced beyond Claire and saw Desmond hovering close by, watching him with concern. To the right of Desmond there stood a huge pylon. A girl with dark hair was crouching at its base, pushing buttons on a control panel. Suddenly Sayid came running down the grass slope to meet them.

"Where's Kate?" asked Desmond.

Sayid shook his head. "She wouldn't come. I told her they were releasing her, but wouldn't leave without Jack. She's convinced that he's been brainwashed. She told me to leave without her and tell James she is sorry."

Desmond frowned. "Who's James?"

"I've no idea…" muttered Sayid.

"The force field is down," the dark-haired girl announced. "You have to take your friend away and never come back here."

Desmond lifted Charlie once again and carried him passed the sonic barrier. Claire followed close by keeping a tight hold of Charlie's hand. Sayid stepped beyond the fence and then turned back to the girl.

"Alex…" said Sayid, his voice gentle and coaxing. "You could come with us if you want. You don't have to stay here with those people. If you like…I could lead you back to your mother…"

The girl looked dumbstruck. Then suddenly her face twisted into a snarl. She reactivated the sonic field and stepped back from the pylon.

"My mother is dead!" she hissed.

Charlie watched the girl as she fled into the night. His eyelids began to feel heavy once more. He allowed his head to flop...

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The next thing he knew he was lying with his back propped against a tree trunk. He could feel hard fingers pressing against his stomach and ribcage. A large hand cupped his face and tilted his head upright. Charlie cracked his lids and saw Sayid crouching in front of him, eyeing him critically.

"Charlie, wake up…" he said, tapping his cheek. "I need you to tell me precisely how many days you were kept without food."

Precisely? Charlie had lost all sense of time in that cell. Hours and days had blurred together as he had fallen in and out of consciousness.

"Bloody ages…" he groaned.

Sayid sighed and continued to examine him. Suddenly Claire knelt down beside him, kissed him on the cheek and promptly began spoon-feeding him. Charlie grimaced. They didn't have to treat him like a baby. Then he tasted what was on the spoon and his face broke into a smile. Peanut butter.

"This is my last jar..." said Claire, offering another spoonful.

"Claire, slow down," Sayid advised. "Don't give him too much. He needs water first. He's suffering with dehydration."

"Sayid, I know what I'm doing, okay?" Claire rebuffed. "I took care of my mum for years. Charlie needs to eat something nutritious. He has to boost his immune system, otherwise he is going to get sick!"

"Listen Claire. When I served in the Republican Guard I dealt with many prisoners who had been subjected to starvation. You mustn't force too much food on him at once. His body has to readjust to the intake."

"I know, Sayid! Look, I've gone through our supplies and divided everything up into food groups. Charlie just needs to have a little bit of each one before he goes to sleep. He needs them all to make him healthy again. I'll make sure he has enough water too. Why don't you go off and look at your maps?"

Sayid sighed again. "Claire, you're smothering him."

"I am not!" she protested, much offended.

"Yeah, you are, Claire…" said Charlie with a sly smile.

Claire turned and narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're getting a taste of your own medicine then."

Charlie laughed. He was still feeling wasted and enfeebled, but it was a blessing to be in the company of his friends again. Just breathing in the fresh air once more was enough to revitalise him. Sayid eventually gave up and allowed Claire to fuss over him while he built them a campfire. It wasn't until the fire was burning that Charlie caught sight of Desmond. The Scotsman was sitting slumped on the opposite side of the clearing with a faraway look on his face. When he saw Charlie staring at him he nodded and winked. Charlie turned his attentions back to Claire. After she had managed to get a little more food and water down him, she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and helped him to lie down. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

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The next morning they began their long trek back to camp. Sayid and Desmond took it in turns to carry Charlie on their backs. Charlie complained bitterly about being treated like an invalid, but they insisted that he wasn't to exert himself. So Charlie reluctantly allowed himself to be carted along like a piece of luggage. As they made their journey by day Charlie found himself wincing and shielding his eyes against the intense sun. He realised that he had become conditioned to coldness and shadows.

That evening, they camped in a cave. Sayid and Claire finally gave way to their exhaustion and lay down to sleep while Desmond took the watch. He sat against a boulder in the cave mouth, staring at a crumpled photograph. After a moment Charlie rose to his knees and began crawling towards Desmond. He felt frail and decrepit like an old man. He could feel his bones jutting under his papery skin. He was stiff in the joints and covered in goose-bumps. He felt very aware of his skeleton. He was just a shaky little bag of skin and bones.

Desmond noticed him and shook his head.

"Get back to sleep, Charlie," he ordered, his tone stern and disapproving. "You need to recover your strength, brother."

Charlie snorted. "Recover my strength for what, Des? For the next death that the universe has got lined up for me?"

"Don't think like that, mate…"

"Why shouldn't I?" he complained. "You came all this way! You risked your lives to rescue me. But what was the bloody point, Desmond? You said yourself you can't stop this forever. Why keep trying?!"

Desmond held up his photograph. "Charlie, do you remember the night you had your dream about Penny? Miss Widmore?"

Charlie squinted at the girl in the picture. He had never seen this woman before in his life and yet she seemed strangely familiar to him.

"While you were sleeping…" Desmond continued, tightly, "…I lifted my rifle, I aimed it at your head and came close to pulling the trigger."

Charlie flinched in alarm. "You _what_?!"

He shrugged. "I didn't think you stood a chance, brother. I thought the death visions would only get worse if I tried to put it off. I didn't want you to suffer. I thought it was the only thing I could do for you…"

Charlie squirmed, feeling sick to his stomach.

"What stopped you then?" he asked.

"You did. All of a sudden you had this wee smile on your face. I could tell that you were dreaming. I could see by your expression that you hadn't given up. I thought, well, if this man still has hope then I've no business taking his life…and then I learned what you were dreaming about..."

Desmond stroked his thumb over the photograph.

"You know, brother, somebody once said that me and her weren't meant to be together. For a long while I was stupid and cowardly enough to believe them. But not anymore, pal. You've got me hoping again. Its thanks to you I know that Penny still cares for me. That she is still out there looking for me."

Desmond turned and looked Charlie in the eyes.

"So I'm damned if I'm going to let you give up now. You best pull yourself together, soldier. Because we aren't finished yet."

Charlie hung his head. "So when does it end, Des?"

"It ends when Penny comes."

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The following morning Charlie wasn't feeling so weak and sickly anymore. His appetite was raging. He ate two pieces of fruit, some salted pork and an Apollo bar that Claire had brought along in her pack. He insisted on walking that day, though he still needed to be supported on either side by Desmond and Claire. With a map in his hand, Sayid led the way back to camp.

"We finished your church," Claire told him, brightly. "Everybody pitched in. Even Sawyer. Just wait till you see it, Charlie."

He smiled, contently. Charlie really felt like he was returning home. He was looking forward to seeing all those raggedy lean-tos again. He couldn't wait to see Aaron. He was itching to play his guitar. Hell, even the sand fleas didn't seem so bad after the ordeal that he had survived.

Charlie's stomach plummeted when they stepped beyond the tree-line. The camp was deserted. The tents were unoccupied. Fruit platters lay half-eaten on the kitchen table. It was like discovering the Mary Celeste. Charlie's dream came flooding back to him and his heart began to race. Claire screamed in horror and broke from his side when she saw her baby's crib lying empty.

"Aaron's gone!" she wailed, sobbing and fraught. "What's happening, Charlie? Where is he? Where is everyone?!"

Desmond and Sayid were speechless, rooted with shock. Suddenly a sound came into Charlie's ears. He could hear a dog barking.

"Vincent…" he gasped.

Charlie encouraged his companions to follow the sound of the barking, remembering how he had followed Vincent in his dream. Sayid and Claire hurried over the sand and then came to an abrupt halt, staring at something a little way down the beach. Desmond helped Charlie to hurry after them.

They could scarcely believe what they saw…

Four helicopters were parked in the sand just a short distance from them. The crews of these choppers were unloading crates of food and medical supplies from their small crafts. The survivors of Flight 815 were huddling in blankets, being served with warm drinks and being asked concerned questions. Three months after their plane crash they were finally getting some care and comfort. Vincent was bounding around the rescue site, barking and wagging his tail.

Claire gasped with relief when she saw Sun and Jin sitting together, holding Aaron between them. She rushed towards them, fell onto her knees and began thanking the Korean couple profusely for looking after her son. Charlie smiled to see Sun placing Aaron back into Claire's arms. Suddenly his view was blocked by a large Latino man with fuzzy black hair and a huge smile.

"Charlie! Dude, you're alive!"

Sayid only barely managed to restrain Hurley from crushing his malnourished friend in an over-enthusiastic hug.

"Guys! Can you even believe this?!" Hurley exclaimed. "The choppers landed here this morning. They picked up that signal from the Flame Station. Charlie, dude! You like totally got us rescued! You're like the fricking hero of the hour here! Whoa man…you're not looking so good though. We seriously need to get some hot dinners in you. Hey, when we get home what do you say we all go out for some fried chicken together? Man, I can't believe we're actually going home. Dude, I'm gonna see my mom again! I hope she isn't pissed that I missed her birthday…"

Hurley's smile faded a little as it suddenly dawned on him that Jack, Kate and Locke had not returned with them. He asked what had happened. Sayid took Hurley aside to explain the events of their rescue trek.

Charlie and Desmond were left standing together. Charlie turned to look at the man who was keeping him upright with a firm hold underneath his arm. Desmond's eyes were scanning the faces of the rescue team. He seemed to be searching for a face that he would recognise. A face which he had been longing to see again. Judging by the disappointment etched on his features, Desmond had looked over every face and had not found her.

Charlie sighed and glanced towards the ocean. His eyes widened as he noticed a woman standing alone on the cusp of the sea. A woman with golden hair that was being tussled by the wind. Her head was bowed in sorrow. It seemed as though she had wandered away from her fellow rescuers…like she needed a private moment to release some tears…because she hadn't found what she was looking for either…

"Desmond…" said Charlie, pointing towards the sea.

Desmond followed his gesture. Charlie heard his breath catch in his throat. Desmond immediately took a step forwards. Then just as suddenly he stopped and looked back at Charlie. He seemed worried that Charlie would collapse in the sand if he left his side. He wanted to be certain that it was okay to let him go.

Charlie gave a little nod to say he was fine. He didn't need Desmond to hold him up anymore. Charlie was feeling confident that he could stand on his own. So Desmond uncoiled his arm from Charlie's shoulders and took a step back. He stood beaming at Charlie for a moment as though feeling a sense of honour and achievement, feeling that his quest had been fulfilled and the cycle had been broken. Penny was here. Desmond didn't hesitate for another second. He turned and dashed towards her.

Charlie shielded his eyes from the morning sun. He watched Desmond and his girl approaching each other slowly on the shoreline, reaching out to one another with trembling fingers. Both were laughing, weeping and breathless as they clasped the face of their lover between their hands.

Charlie averted his eyes as they began to kiss.

He hobbled over to the rest of the survivors. He noticed that Claire was smiling at him, pleased to see him walking unsupported. Claire's smile was more than enough to nourish him. For once it seemed like fate was smiling on them too.

_The End_


End file.
